For Their Unconquerable Souls
by Lomonaaeren
Summary: HPDM slash, side story to my novel-length story 'Bloody But Unbowed.' Draco thinks Potter has some nerve working as his father's mediwizard and being attractive at the same time.
1. Survival Comes First

**Title: **For Their Unconquerable Souls

**Disclaimer: **J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.

**Rating: **R/M

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco, Lucius/Narcissa (past Harry/others).

**Warnings: DH Spoilers, but ignores epilogue. **Profanity, slash and het sex, blood, and angst.

**Summary: **Having Harry Potter assigned as the mediwizard for his father when Lucius is hit with a mysterious Dark curse is not something Draco ever thought he would encounter. And then Potter spoke rudely to him! And had the gall to be attractive! And to have past lovers! It was a wonder that Draco could tolerate him. Not to mention his parents' opinions of the situation.

**Author's Notes: **This fic is dedicated to duchessa, who made a generous donation to the livelongnmarry LJ community to support equal marriage rights for gays and lesbians. She requested the Malfoy POV on various scenes from my novel-length story _Bloody But Unbowed, _which is Harry's perspective on the situation that makes him Lucius Malfoy's mediwizard. Therefore, this story won't make much sense if you haven't read _Bloody But Unbowed_, and will tend to skip some chunks of time, as well as include scenes that weren't in the original, taking place when Harry was asleep or elsewhere. Like _Bloody But Unbowed, _this story is titled, with a slight twist, after a line from William Ernest Henley's poem "Invictus": "I give thanks to whatever gods may be/ For my unconquerable soul."

**For Their Unconquerable Souls**

_Chapter One—Survival Comes First_

"How deep are the wounds?" Narcissa's words were mild, cold, patient, the way they always were when they were outside the walls of Malfoy Manor and needed to beware the presence of other people. But her fingers against his wrist were damp and tight. Lucius focused his mind on the sensation of his wife's hand so that he could reply rationally.

"Getting deeper each time."

He glanced up when Narcissa didn't reply at once, to see her eyes shut and her face furrow as she bowed it, the long blonde hair falling gracefully to her shoulders. Someone else might have thought she was trying to keep tears back. But Lucius knew that look. His wife was meditating vengeance against the madman who had cast this curse on him.

_Madman indeed!_ Of all the things Lucius had not expected yesterday, being assaulted by someone who spat at him as he cast an unknown Dark curse which caused increasingly deeper wounds to open and then close themselves throughout Lucius's body had been near the top of a very long list.

"It does not seem right," Narcissa observed remotely, "that we should have to come here for treatment, instead of having it occur safely in our own home." Though Lucius had his own eyes shut now, struggling to recall the attack exactly as it had happened, he could imagine his wife scowling at the walls of the St. Mungo's hospital room.

"It does not seem right," Lucius agreed, and moved his hand slowly up and down the inside of her elbow. He would not grunt as the injury in his chest worked itself slowly open, rather like someone slitting the belly of a pig. Even if his enemy, now in Auror custody, never knew of his indignity, Lucius and Narcissa shared a bed some nights, and the memory of his weakness would linger between them. Besides, lowering one's emotional defenses for a sign of pain outside the home could lead to lowering them again later, for a worse reason. Lucius would never allow himself to become so careless.

_Survival comes first, _said the list of rules that Lucius's father Abraxas had made him memorize when he was a child. And being cold and closed-off everywhere but the home meant showing no vulnerabilities to anyone, and _that _meant increasing the family's chances of survival by convincing their enemies they were too strong to attack.

He did not enjoy coming to this cold place, where enemies disgusted by his activities during the war waited—some of them angry that he had been part of the group that cursed their relatives, some convinced he had not remained loyal enough to the Dark Lord—and where others were in charge who had the power to hurt him because he had withdrawn _his _power to help them. But here were Healers who had access to healing spells he had no command of and no time to learn. He would do worse things than the merely distasteful to ensure he lived.

His life, of course, might depend on the Healer they assigned him. When the door opened, in the middle of one of Narcissa's speculations on what the Aurors might find out about their prisoner and the feasibility of using Draco to sneak in Veritaserum, Lucius looked around, expecting to recognize a face that resembled one of his victims during the war.

It was worse, or better, or perhaps this was simply the way that fate laughed at him. Facing him was Harry Potter, clutching a file and staring at him with an expression that could be taken for anger or wonder in his eyes. His face was pale and the lightning bolt scar looked like a streak of blood. Lucius would have snorted if he had the courage. Did Potter expect to face a proud Death Eater, intent on denigrating him for his impure blood? Lucius would not do such a thing to anyone who held his life in his hands, no matter how much he might privately think it. The Potters had been one of the families once considered worthy of intermarrying with the Malfoys. That they could have disgraced themselves with a Mudblood marriage was hardly to be borne.

But that was more than twenty years in the past, and the man in front of him at the moment was the one Lucius needed to think of, rather than the James who had been wasteful of his pure seed.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Potter's voice held a tinge of nervousness that Lucius knew he did not imagine. Perhaps he did fear curses after all, from Narcissa if not Lucius. Lucius made some effort to lie more still than he was doing right now. That might convince Potter he was no threat. "I'm the mediwizard assigned to your case. Harry Potter."

"Mr. Potter." Lucius summoned a faint smile that Potter would take for sincere. He laid pain behind it, too. The better the part he could play, the sooner Potter would apply his utmost effort to the case. Perhaps having him here would prove to be more useful than not, after all. He might retain that heroic complex Lucius had always heard attributed to him and try to materially heal a Malfoy. Or he might see the usefulness of acting quickly so that they would not have to endure each other's company for long. "We are together under more—auspicious circumstances than last time."

"Yes, we are." Potter's eyes were raking over him, Lucius noted with approval that had grown faint through the pain. Though the boy did not have a Healer's rank and thus not a Healer's training, at least he was observant.

Of course, observation was not enough, and so the boy cast a spell that sent a series of small silver frogs leaping at Lucius. Lucius raised an eyebrow at the choice of the shape, not least because they sank into his body with a rippling of cold. If the boy had selected a phoenix, as would fit from his having been the protégé of Albus Dumbledore, at least Lucius might have felt some warmth.

"What is the curse? Do you know who cast it, and do you know what must be done to reverse it?" Potter asked the questions as if he didn't know the Malfoys would be at home with a private Healer or their own spellbooks if that were the case. Lucius regretfully adjusted his opinion of the boy's intelligence. Observation sometimes went with intelligence, yes, but not always. If it affected his treatment, then Lucius might need to ask Draco to spend some time with Potter and drag the useful information out of him, so the Malfoys could put it together on their own.

"Obviously we do _not _know the latter, or we would not have bothered coming here," said Narcissa.

Potter looked at her as though he assumed Narcissa were always ruffled up like a cat, and not because of a stupid question. "I meant no insult to your spellcasting skills," he said. Lucius would have laughed were the situation less serious. The idiot was using a _gentle _voice. _Does he speak the same way to the kittens he undoubtedly rescues?_ "Sometimes the patient does know the cure for his condition, but is prevented from using it himself thanks to a lack of power or ingredients for a potion—"

"In this case, we don't know," Lucius said. He thought it wise to take over. This was a greater strain for Narcissa than for himself; she had been sure they would find some cure in the Manor, whilst Lucius had suspected from the first that they must venture into the wilds of St. Mungo's. "We do know who cast the curse, and he is now in Auror custody. But he destroyed the book from which he took the spell, and he cannot be legally forced to take Veritaserum, so he yet retains the secret to the cure. If he knows of it, which I doubt." He raised his hand from his chest. "As to the spell's effects, see for yourself."

Potter's eyes widened at the sight of his wound, and then narrowed in a motion which surprised Lucius. He asked, "They open throughout your body?" more quickly than Lucius would have suspected the question to arise.

Lucius could not respond at once, because the diagnostic spell leaped back out of him, coalescing into a great frog that landed on Potter's palm. Potter promptly closed his eyes and stood in a listening attitude. Lucius frowned inwardly, though he knew his face remained blank. Fancy having to wait a moment to report on his own symptoms because a spell was doing the same thing!

"The wounds have been appearing since yesterday," Lucius said, when a slight shift in Potter's face told him the man might be paying attention to the people in the room with him again instead of the spells. "On my chest and my legs so far. They have always healed without leaving more than a scar behind, and the scar itself heals within an hour." He had an idea as Potter opened his eyes again and touched the wound on his chest, swirling one finger along the line of the scar as if he were worried about that particular one. His idea worked; one hard-pressed corner of Potter's mouth relaxed. Perhaps that would induce him to be both kinder and more thorough in his treatments. Lucius did not mind showing vulnerability to someone not of the family if that vulnerability was feigned. "You understand my reluctance to allow the curse to continue when it may open a wound through my heart at any second."

Potter hummed for a moment under his breath, and then said, "Yes," and moved his wand in a motion far too quick for someone who had given Lucius no warning. "_Defendo contra malitiam!_"

Though Lucius could understand the Latin and knew that Potter was casting a protective spell on him instead of one that would hurt, he felt himself stiffen with outrage as the silver lump of light collapsed on him. Potter didn't actually seem to have proper control of it at first; that made Lucius wonder if the Healers had assigned Potter to him not because he was the only one who would care for a Malfoy but because they would find it amusing to see him die at the hands of an inexperienced mediwizard. But Potter cast more magic, and Lucius had to admit he could feel a small easing of tension in his chest, centered around the wound.

A slight shuffle to the side showed that Narcissa had drawn her wand. Lucius appreciated the gesture too much to reprimand her. Besides, it gave him a moment to relax and calm his tone so he would speak with something less than the outrage he felt. Potter did not deserve to know that much of his true feelings. "I am accustomed to having warning before foreign magic is cast at me. What was that?"

"The spell has a buried malice component." For the first time, Potter's voice took on the tone of a proper Healer or mediwizard; he sounded as if he might know something about the situation. And then he cast the spell again without asking for permission. Lucius held himself still; doubtless Potter, who had grown up so far from the closed and defended world of pure-blood households, would think it strange that he should have been expected to inquire. "It ensures that you'll go on getting sicker—in this case, the wounds will be worse than they would otherwise. It also picks up on your worst fear. Because you said the spell would open a cut through your heart eventually, it makes it all the more likely to happen."

"Ah," Lucius said, to cover the rapid gyrations his brain was currently traveling through. This was more than he expected the madman attacking him to be capable of. "That would make sense. This man believes I raped his daughter."

"Did you?"

Lucius felt his startlement strike through him like a sluice of cold water. Narcissa spoke, scolding Potter, and again Lucius was grateful that she had taken the defense on her shoulders. He needed a moment to recover, and she must have seen that. Potter had asked the question with a tone of mild interest, as though he regularly tended patients who admitted such crimes.

It was the first thing about Potter that was eye-catching for itself, rather than for the fame that other people attributed to him or because he was in the position of perhaps saving Lucius's life. Lucius felt a quiver of anticipation in the back of his brain. People who drew attention to themselves in such a way inevitably turned out to be of use.

Of course, he would have to think about that later, because saving his life was the more important task, but he would remember.

Potter told them then, straight-out, that he was the only Healer or mediwizard likely to help Lucius. Lucius arched an eyebrow as he redirected his awareness to the conversation. Interesting that Potter felt confident enough in his precarious position to admit that. Or was it another case of damnable Gryffindor honesty, emerging no matter what the consideration for tact or danger? Just because someone had an unexpected quality like the touch of cold humor with which Potter addressed Lucius didn't mean he didn't have faults, too. Lucius would have to determine where along that spectrum of flaws Potter fell.

Lucius asked quietly why someone would refuse to treat him, and received a grin in return, along with a recital of the expected reasons: that Lucius had been a Death Eater and the hospital had treated many Death Eater victims, along with the idea that he had only donated in order to impress the public with his repentance. Potter also seemed unafraid to tell those reasons to a man who he might have known would resent the imputations, even if they were false. Was he politically unaware? Did he know his name might protect him against Lucius's reprisals? Or was he as Lucius was beginning to think he was, someone so focused on doing his job that outside considerations didn't matter to him?

Lucius did not know enough about Potter to predict which of those might be the truth, and so he did not want to remain silent too long, lest Potter decide that Lucius was taking too much time to consider words he must have expected. And yes, he probably was not intelligent enough to notice the pause, but Lucius still wouldn't take the chance. Survival in a world that wanted to slaughter pure-blood families didn't rest on chances. "Well, I can see the advantages of that perspective," he said. "What do you believe you will need to restore me to health?"

"As many details on the crime as you can give me." Potter tilted his head as if it took effort to summon the list of what he needed to the forefront of his brain. Lucius could well believe that. "The details the Aurors have collected from the prisoner will be useful as well, but I have contacts in the Ministry who can obtain them for me." And here he nodded wisely, as if he imagined that contacts in the Ministry—no doubt Weasleys—made him special. Lucius could see why his superiors in hospital had kept him about, even if they disliked him. He could be amusing. "Dark Arts references; those, I have."

Lucius swallowed a laugh as he thought of the thousands of Dark Arts books in the Manor. They had surrendered the most obvious choices to the Aurors after the war, and still had a library richer than any other in Britain, at least to Lucius's knowledge. Of course, Potter was probably so unaccustomed to true luxuries instead of their garish imitations that he would not even think to ask that.

He felt good enough to say, "I may be able to help you with yet more of them, Mr. Potter."

Of course Narcissa protested again, but Lucius was feeling confident enough to disregard her. If the hospital had given him a mediwizard only because doing nothing was more obvious than they could bring themselves to be, they had at least given him an entertaining one.

Potter, of course, asked if the books would be interdicted through owl post. That amused Lucius further. Draco had told him when he was younger and in the mood to complain because Potter had won yet another of their constant confrontations that Potter showed a fanatic regard for the rules on the surface whilst doing more than any other student to confound them in practice. It seemed that trait had persisted.

_Perhaps that is another thing I owe Potter for, then. He taught my son about disappointment, and that in turn may have enabled him not to break under the trial of the Dark Lord._

Because he was curious and his thoughts had already turned in that direction, Lucius offered to let Narcissa or Draco carry the relevant Dark Arts books to Potter. How would he react when Draco was mentioned?

He smiled, and spoke some nonsense about a cubicle of his where he could receive them. Then he drew out a Replication Quill and the parchment that abounded in places like this one—frayed and tattering at the edges from being shoved into too many pockets—and asked Lucius for details of the case. Lucius told him most of what he felt it proper for Potter to know. Some information was, of course, reserved because it was private to the family, and some more because Lucius wanted to see what Potter would do if he was without it.

Now and then Narcissa squeezed his shoulder. She invariably did it during the omissions. Lucius would have raised an eyebrow at her if they were alone. Did she think Potter trustworthy enough already to be honored with confidences like this? Or maybe Lucius's danger—which she had never suffered as gracefully as Lucius suffered it himself—had convinced her that they could hold nothing relevant back, because they would really need Potter's help to let him recover.

Lucius ignored the squeezes for now. Narcissa had adapted wonderfully well to the code of laws that governed Malfoy life, because a code not unlike it had governed the Blacks. The survival of the family was paramount among them, too. But she was not a born Malfoy, and she could not often remember that, along with survival, one had to look for the advantage to be gained from any situation.

Potter wrote everything down, his head bowed and attentive, his eyes shadowed as he heard the bloodier details. Lucius was almost ready to call him what he appeared to be on the surface, honest and dedicated.

They had nearly come to the end of the questions that Lucius would have asked were he in Potter's position when the door burst open and admitted his son. Lucius felt a small relaxation of the muscles around his heart on seeing him. He had sent an owl to Draco before he went to hospital, but Draco was deep in a challenging part of his study for his Potions mastery and might not have responded. Now that they were together again, Lucius was as safe as he could be anywhere outside the guarded walls of the Manor.

And then he saw the way his son looked at Potter, and the way Potter pivoted towards Draco as if expecting a confrontation despite his smile earlier, and his amusement coalesced again. If fate had put him into an awkward and life-threatening position, it had at least arranged ample entertainments for him in recompense.


	2. A Scattershot Of Impressions

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Two—A Scattershot of Impressions_

His father had been wounded, and he had not been there in time to kill the attacker.

That was the only thought existing in Draco's mind when he came through the door of Lucius's hospital room, and then he had to _stop_, because another had joined it when he saw the Healer waiting in front of Lucius's bed. Or, no, not waiting, but spinning around to face him, as if he thought an intruder more important than the man he was being paid to attend.

_Harry Potter._

Draco would have liked to curl around the sickening knowledge that Harry Potter held his father's life hostage and writhe with it in silence for some time, but he had no moment in which to do so. Betraying weakness in front of someone not of the family was intolerable. And he was in his late twenties now, with his Potions mastery a few months of hard studying away. The only notice Potter deserved from him was chill anger.

He bounded past Potter then, returning to what was important, his father and the unknown curse that had felled him. That one word in the letter, _unknown_, had scared him worse than all the rest. And now he had to learn that not only was there a chance Lucius could die because no one recognized the curse, but also that his treatment was in the hands of an incompetent.

His father looked up at him through a mask of glowing ice that Draco had long training in seeing through. There was pain there, and some fear, but no resignation. He had not given up, despite everything. And Draco fed on that strength and gave strength back as a flowing river.

"Father, what happened?" Draco asked. He had meant to make his voice colder and stronger than Lucius's mask, but he saw the wound on his chest expand, then, as if someone had dragged an invisible knife down the line. "I came as soon as I heard, but—what _is_ this?" He knew part of the answer, but showing too much knowledge in front of someone like Potter was inadvisable. "Dark Arts?" He drew his wand and held it casually at his side. Whether he wanted to dispel the curse or send Potter away, it made him feel better to have it drawn.

"A curse, my son." Lucius's voice was calm, ordinary, but the very answer told Draco that Lucius had expected more of him. He'd _told _him it was a curse in his letter; must Draco ask obvious questions? Draco flickered an eyelash in acknowledgment, but said nothing. His distress and his love for his father must be his excuses. "Healer Potter here—"

"Mediwizard Potter." Potter's voice had a smug tone to it, Draco thought, glaring at him, as if he were glad that he didn't have the higher title, because then no one could blame him when Lucius died under his care. "I never achieved full Healer's rank."

Taking the offensive against someone who held a family member's life in his hands was incautious, but Draco doubted that his father would scold him for it, because Potter would not be the one ultimately left to tend to Lucius. They would find another Healer. Narcissa would make sure of that, or Draco would find someone among his Potions contacts who had the skill and interest to make a go at tending this curse.

In the meantime, Draco could use Potter as an outlet for relieving his stress.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning forwards, longing to see the words curdle Potter's smile. "Too busy running off to have adventures in the middle of treatments?"

"A lack of proper NEWT scores in Potions, actually."

Draco felt his eyes widen, in such a way that he knew Potter must have seen it happen. But he managed to keep his jaw from falling open, which under the circumstances was a coup. He had not known a Potter who had any sense of humor about himself. And no one changed enough to have one where he hadn't possessed it before in a few short years. Great as the changes had been in Draco himself, he knew he was incapable of it, and Potter, the inflexible, brittle Gryffindor, was not even as adaptable as he was.

"I have some ideas about how to handle the curse, and the stabilization spells should protect you from permanent damage for a few days before I have to renew them," Potter continued on, turning to Lucius. He seemed to find nothing extraordinary in his own words, which infuriated Draco further. How _dare _Potter escape the impact that had stunned Draco into stillness? "But I'll be honest—"

"You seem to be nothing but," Lucius murmured.

Potter just smiled as if he were trying not to get angry. Draco read the correct import of those words, though. They were aimed at him. His father was saying they could trust Potter's ridiculous Gryffindor honor, if not Potter in general, and wanted to warn Draco off making assumptions that they couldn't. So Draco stayed silent for the moment, his hand digging into the sheets behind Lucius's shoulder, where his whitened knuckles would be out of Potter's sight, and listened to Potter say, "A Healer would have access to more medical texts than I do. I may be able to find you someone who won't care about your reputation, Mr. Malfoy, and who can command the attendance of several mediwizards or mediwitches. Would you prefer that I do this?" He raised his eyebrows and looked perfectly calm and perfectly concerned, as if he really would allow Lucius's decision to make a difference in the way he treated him.

Draco shook his head in growing fury. From somewhere Potter had acquired the acting skills to make it seem as if he were not salivating to take revenge on Lucius for hurting his little girlfriend. That seemed incredible, impossible. But it was even more so that his "gentle, professional, honest" mediwizard image could be genuine.

"You said you were unsure that anyone in hospital would endeavor to treat me fully." Lucius's voice was without emphasis. Draco bowed his head further to conceal a smile. He doubted that Potter knew what the lack of inflection meant. His father was making up his mind to something distasteful, and in this case that was having to rely on Potter when he would surely rather use _anyone _else.

"Yes, sir, that's quite true." Potter sighed, a martyred sound. Doubtless this interfered with his plans to go back to his office and get drunk, Draco thought, or owl his Gryffindor friends and laugh about Lucius's graciousness. "I trust my willingness to do so—"

Draco could not let that line pass without comment. Potter had no idea what trust meant for a member of a pure-blood family. It meant leaning on others' strength absolutely and without comment when one had need to do so, and expecting that they would do the same when their moment of need came. It meant intense emotions, blazing the more brightly from their confinement to a small number of people. Trust could never be a casual word there.

"I don't," he said.

Potter's eyes flickered sideways to him once, making Draco confident he had at least been heard. Draco had forgotten how stunning they were, those eyes. He could have wished he knew a family member who had them. To see them shine with _earned _trust would be something. But they were in the wrong face, and the wrong tone of voice was saying, "But not necessarily my skill. You might be better off with someone who would become interested in the challenge even if he or she didn't like you personally."

His father let that statement pass as it should, in a few moments of thinking silence. Draco smelled snowflowers as his mother leaned past him and pressed her lips into the edge of Lucius's ear. She did not speak deliberately loud enough for Draco to hear, but all matters of the family concerned him, and so he heard her say, "We should send for someone else. This—this _sparking _honesty is not enough, not when unpaired with skill. I would rather trust our bribes."

Draco was not foolish enough to nod, not when that might give Potter a guess at what their whispered conversation had been about, but he privately agreed. The flash of coins in the eyes of a greedy man or woman was far less troublesome than the flash of a Gryffindor's mercurial character.

His father took his mother's wrist and bore down. Narcissa leaned away with her face gone a touch paler than usual, but she nodded. Draco felt his stomach tighten with anxiety. He knew what his father was thinking, yes, but not what he was _thinking. _He had decided to take the risk and lean on the strength of a man whom they could not bribe and had no reason to trust.

Lucius said, "I prefer that you work on me until we have seen your skill is insufficient to the task."

Potter bowed. That gesture, combined with his next words, could almost have convinced Draco that he was sensible of the honor he'd just received. "Thank you for trusting me, sir. Allow me to revise these notes." He held up a parchment he'd presumably used to take notes on Lucius's condition.. "I'll return tomorrow for the books you promised and to give you my preliminary diagnosis."

He turned and left.

That would have been the prime moment for a private family conference. Draco could feel the tendrils of soft, cold expectation reaching out from his mother and father to enfold him, to bind him and draw him in with his face turned to theirs.

Instead, he went after Potter.

Potter was lowering his wand, taking a deep breath, as if he had passed out of some fetid cell into clean air and wanted to exude the last traces of the smell from his lungs. Draco would have complained about that, but Potter likely wouldn't have known what "fetid" meant. He turned around when he saw Draco, and for a moment those green eyes were weary. Draco bristled. Potter was looking at him as if he were one more obstacle to be struggled past on the way to—somewhere. Bed, perhaps. Potter would be the kind of mediwizard who counted the hours between one rest and the next, and thought a small bit of sleep missed was enough to entitle him to an all day's whinge. He had certainly whinged enough in school.

"Yes, Malfoy?" he said. "Can I help you?"

Draco leaned towards him, hoping that Potter would see he was still a few inches shorter than Draco and recognize a threat when he saw it. But all that happened was the crinkling of a few lines around Potter's eyes, as if he were actually _amused, _so Draco saw he would have to do something he despised doing for people outside the family and make himself clear. "If you don't cure my father, what that curse does to him will seem like _nothing_ beside what my curse does to you."

Potter paused as if he were thinking about it. Draco wanted to hiss at him. Why did he need to _think_ about it? Draco, with the knowledge of both Dark Arts and poisons he'd gained in the last few years, was only telling the truth, and he had spoken in an intimidating whisper.

"I look forwards to your demonstration of competence," Potter said then, and bowed to him. His voice was mock-grave, though it took Draco a moment to notice that beside the shock of his next words. "You can only have improved since I last saw you."

Then he turned his back and walked away.

A Muggle saint couldn't have been asked to resist the temptation that his uncaring spine presented. Draco had never compared himself to a Muggle saint except when he had to deal with a few of his more incompetent colleagues. He raised his wand and aimed a careful Stinging Hex at the back of Potter's robes.

It streaked away towards Potter, on target as always, and then _bounced._ Draco had time for surprise, but not enough time to move. The Hex enveloped his fingers, and they began to burn, particularly around the nails. He yelped and held the hand closer to his body, staring at Potter as he walked on. There was an extra spring to his walk now, Draco thought, since he had heard the noise.

The Potter Draco had been creating in his mind and drawing from the man in front of him crumbled. Someone incautious, someone thinking only of his bed and of insulting people better than he was, didn't put wards on the back of his robes that would instantly deflect a skillful hex.

Draco stepped slowly back into his father's hospital room, never taking his eyes off Potter as he went. Perhaps Potter's motivation lay elsewhere, then. Perhaps he intended to take his vengeance by _healing _Lucius, showing the Malfoys that their patriarch's life depended on a half-blood, and insulting them at the same time.

That was too subtle for the man Draco had thought he knew, but he was coming to realize that he might not know Potter so well.

* * *

"I do not think confronting Potter again would be wise, Draco."

Draco turned slowly, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He hadn't spoken to his mother that morning; he had simply spent a little longer in the loo than usual, making sure the magical shampoo had washed every speck of dirt out of his hair, and used an enchantment that drew attention to his gray eyes. But his mother had read the truth from those brief, subtle clues.

Of course, she had been meant to. And if she had been a whit less clever, Lucius would not have married her, and she would not have survived the passion that swirled in the confines of the Malfoy home.

Narcissa was standing at the bottom of the grand staircase, her hands resting gently on her hips. She wore a shining lavender gown this morning, with streaks of gray. Draco approved. They would have at least a few visits from old "associates" of Lucius who had heard the truth and came to offer their half-false condolences, and they would devour every movement Narcissa made, every flicker of her eyelid, every tint of color to her cheeks. This gown made her look normal, not pale, calm. They would go home perhaps wanting to believe that she was resigned to her husband's death, but not able to find evidence for it in her manner.

"I'm not going to confront him as in use magic on him," said Draco. "I do want to test his skill, yes, especially after what I found out last night." He had asked a few Healers he passed, using a combination of flirtation and a subtle glamour charm so they weren't quite able to catch a glimpse of his face, and learned that what Potter said was true. He had only achieved a mediwizard's rank due to a lack of skills with potions. Draco himself could supply that lack, should his father need them, but he didn't like the fact that St. Mungo's thought it perfectly permissible to cast Lucius Malfoy into the care of a man who couldn't brew.

The implications of that stretched far beyond the moment. And perhaps Potter noticed them and knew what they meant better than Draco himself, since he had worked in the place for several years. But if that was the case, he had accepted Lucius's care anyway, and so he was either plotting something or overconfident.

"And if he's in the middle of a delicate procedure that could cost your father's life?" Narcissa's voice carried no more emphasis than Lucius's had at some points last night. It didn't need to. The level gaze Draco received told him everything he needed to know.

"Then I'll leave him alone, of course, and wait until he's done." Draco snorted at the way his mother tilted her head, which had the effect of sharpening her gaze. It had been most effective on him when he was still a boy of five. Now he knew exactly where the sudden urge to squirm came from. "Mother, you must know we can't leave Father in the hands of an absolute incompetent."

"I judge his skill to be greater than his tact," said Narcissa.

Draco blinked. It was the most approval his mother had given to anyone outside the family circle in years. Of course, since the war they had been particularly embattled, likely to see only enemies or those "friends" who would gloat about their fallen status, but still, his mother could have complimented a real Healer, not Harry Bloody Potter.

"I'll be quiet," he said. "Sedate. Cautious. Everything you expect of me."

"Except charming." Narcissa's lips had lifted into a faint, reluctant smile. Draco rejoiced to see it. She had been more silent than usual, face blank even around him, since Lucius had landed in hospital. Of course, she had reason to be. Lucius's death would leave a hole in their defenses that she, who had seen one family disintegrate, would understand better than Draco did. Knowledge taken from history books was never as effective in teaching lessons as first-hand experience.

"Do you really think Potter _deserves _charming, Mother?"

"No." Narcissa gave him a long, piercing glance that made Draco feel as if one of the enchanted mirrors on the wall had suddenly gained the power to look back. "But no more would I wish you to alienate him when so far he seems a Fool."

Draco felt his eyebrows rise. The Fool was a private reference his mother had carried out of her youth, when she had sometimes handled the cards usually used by idiots who believed in Divination. The cards didn't work for anyone except true Seers, so his mother had given them up in time, but she had taught some of their names and signs to Draco. The Fool was a rare type: honest, lucky, always skirting the edge of disaster but always escaping it again, and drawing others with him into his madcap life.

If Potter really was one, Narcissa was telling him in much fewer words, they should let him work unmolested.

And looking back over the miraculous way Potter had escaped death again and again, Draco could see why his mother might believe that. But he himself would need more proof before he decided that Potter could simply be left alone with his father and warrant none of Draco's interference.

So now he murmured, "I think him masked," and departed through the fire, whilst his mother sighed like rattling crystal behind him.

* * *

Draco leaned against the door of his father's room and allowed himself to be reluctantly impressed. Potter had information from the Ministry, important information that might not have come to their family otherwise, and he was speaking to Lucius in a fearless voice that made Draco inclined to agree with his father's assessment of Potter's honesty.

On the other hand, he was also using language that was less than respectful to the head of a pure-blood family, let alone a patient. At one point he asked if both Draco's parents had been virgins the first time they had sex!

And then he admitted that he and the youngest Weasley had been.

That made Draco narrow his eyes and lean hard against the doorframe as his mind jolted into a new path. He knew from reading the newspapers of the past few years that Potter frequently dated other people, both men and women, and just as frequently broke up with them. When Draco had bothered to think about that, which wasn't often, he had simply assumed that Potter's high standards meant he was unable to be satisfied with a conquest for long. But perhaps it was really because he was a slut and needed a new variety of sex constantly.

Draco had never had sex with him. If he seduced Potter, perhaps that would mean that Potter would be contented for a short time, enough to keep his mind focused on Lucius's treatment, because he wanted to please Draco and keep him interested. Draco had no doubts about _his _ability to keep _Potter _interested.

Glad for the instinct that had led him to spend some extra time on his grooming this morning, he waited for the perfect moment to intrude, and then he heard Potter say, "My best guess at the moment is that Smythe also cast a third spell buried under the two that seem obvious, and that spell didn't go exactly as he planned."

"Your best guess," Draco said, and made sure to drawl as he said it. Potter stared at him with true anger for a moment before he managed to master his emotions. Draco wanted to chuckle with delight. Potter might like to think of himself as controlled, unsusceptible to tactics like the one Draco was trying on him, but he had nothing compared to a pure-blood's paranoid mastery of emotions outside the walls of his home.

It was perfect, Potter's response to that and the next few sentences Draco spoke to him. He taunted him with information he'd heard from the other mediwizards—that Potter really should have figured out the pattern of Lucius's curse by now, because he was supernaturally quick at things like that—and watched Potter flush as he sought for a response. By the time he turned and asked his father how he was, Draco was feeling confident in his ability to stir up an emotional reaction from Potter. Right not it was anger, but that would change when Draco turned on the charm and the flattery.

Lucius gave him a flat stare, warning Draco that he was taking things too far for their naïve, pathetic little mediwizard. Draco ignored him. His father might have certain opinions about how _he _would like things to go, but he was flat on his back in a bed with a potentially dangerous man trying to "save" his life. Draco would just have to take charge and make sure that Potter was actually useful, guided and directed to the proper ends.

Then he saw someone gesture from out in the corridor, and Potter excused himself to duck out after the person. Draco started to cast a spell that would let him listen to the conversation, but Lucius regained his attention with a harsh squeeze of his hand.

"What are you doing, Draco?" he whispered.

"Making sure that I can affect Potter." Draco held his own face in a mock-innocent expression, so if Potter came back through the door suddenly, he'd simply seem to be having an inoffensive conversation with his father.

"You intend to—"

"Seduce him?" Draco laughed at the twitch of his father's eyebrow. Lucius didn't believe in mixing sex with business, but then, that was because he hadn't ever cheated on his wife. Draco didn't intend to marry as young as his father had, or ever, unless he was lucky enough to find someone who could be trusted with the secrets of the family. No pure-blood witch or wizard of his acquaintance was like that. If worst came to worst, he would use blood magic to adopt a child and thus continue the Malfoy line. "Yes, I do. It's the only way I think I can bind him securely to us. And until you're out of hospital, I won't entrust your life to anyone whose first loyalty is not to us."

Lucius's lips twitched for a moment, and he gave a nod. Potter swept back into the room then, his own lips clamped. Draco turned to face him and prepared for some lecture on the impropriety of being close to his own father's bedside.

Instead, Potter spoke the words that changed everything and smashed Draco's half-formed plans to try and get into Potter's bed tonight to splinters. "I just received a warning from my immediate superior. There are certain people who don't want you here and might well attack you."


	3. Potter the Infuriating

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Three—Potter the Infuriating_

What made everything worse, Draco thought later, was the lack of expression on Potter's face when he spoke. He certainly didn't look worried enough about a patient he'd just been warned was in danger from other people in hospital. Maybe he was a mediwizard, but he seemed to have missed the training that most of the Healers Draco knew had received, emphasizing the importance of patients' safety, and their _sense _of that safety. They would not rest as well, nor recover as quickly, if they had to look over their shoulders for an enemy around every corner.

Actually, Draco thought he would have known that without hearing that the teaching occurred as part of Healers' training. It was common sense. But Potter had learned to ignore that, hadn't he?

"And you'd simply let them, is that it?" he asked Potter in a snarl, his hand falling to rest on his wand. He felt an extra surge of fury when he remembered the plan he'd dreamed up for seducing Potter. He would have wasted his time and his skill with someone who cared as little about his patients as Potter cared about Lucius. Someone like that did not _deserve _to be coaxed into loyalty to the Malfoy family.

"Don't be more of an idiot than you can help," Potter snapped, and Draco paused as he saw rage split those green eyes like a flash of lightning. _Perhaps Potter is taking this more seriously than I thought he was. _Potter turned towards the bed and kept one shoulder pointed at Draco whilst he spoke ostentatiously to Lucius. "This is a matter of practicality, Mr. Malfoy. I have other patients and can't spend every hour here with you."

Draco concealed a sneer, but only because exposing his contempt of Potter now would mean exposing far too much of what he really felt. He never wanted to become used to displaying his emotions unguarded in front of someone who wasn't part of the family.

"I also can't guarantee that I'll have the curse reversed in a week, which is the time span of safety my superior gave me. I won't hurry it and possibly hurt you. Nor do I have the authority to set up wards around your room. If I tried, someone would find out and use that as an excuse to have me removed from your case."

Lucius nodded shortly.

_Limitations are all you give us, _Draco thought, his hand curling around his wand again. _Is this the honesty my father so admires? Admissions of weakness and incompetence? Perhaps Potter knows that the one shining moment of heroism in his life was destroying the Dark Lord and now he tries to advertise himself as he really is to the rest of the world, so they'll forgive him his failure since then to live up to that moment. _

"What do you think the best solution is?" Potter asked. He stood with one hand braced on his hip, the other folded into a fist beneath his chin. His eyes were locked on Lucius's face. _Perhaps, _Draco admitted reluctantly, _he wants to do everything he can to save Father, and is admitting his limitations so that we won't demand the impossible_. "Can you arrange protection on your own? Is there someone you want me to contact?"

"I can take time away from my training." Draco said the words because they were true and obviously he would have to be the strong one here, the real hero and protector, but also because he wanted to see Potter's reaction. Potter shot him a startled glance, as if he had never considered that Draco might care for his parents. Draco touched Lucius's shoulder and gazed evenly at Potter. He had no intention of hiding _his _strength. "I'm still a year away from my mastery, you know that, and I'm at a point where pausing my studies won't hurt me."

"I would not want you to have to live in hospital, Draco, when _I _am the one who is sick," said Lucius.

Draco flicked his right eyelid in an imperceptible motion, catching and acknowledging the hint of anxiety behind his father's words. Malfoy Manor needed at least one member of the family there as often as possible, to reassure the house-elves and anchor the wards and show their enemies that it was not worthwhile trying to occupy their home. Lucius had assumed Draco would be that person most of the time, but Draco saw no reason for it to be so. His mother was better at a distance from the bedside anyway, where she was not confronted so strongly with evidence of her nightmare—the disintegration of the family—from moment to moment.

Of course, though Lucius understood all that, Potter might not. And Draco had accepted that they should not antagonize him, though he doubted his private feelings about the man and Lucius's would ever be in agreement. "I want to," he said. "Please say you'll allow it? You know Mother isn't as good with the sight of potential death as I am."

Potter frowned even as Lucius nodded. Draco restrained a sigh this time. He _wished _he understood Potter. Why would he admit that he could barely do anything, even protect his patient's health, and then demand some voice in the proceedings?

"I have one condition, then," Potter said.

_Of course you do. _Draco turned enough to face him and show he was listening, keeping his face calm and bored. _You're probably about to ban Dark Arts books from Lucius's room, despite needing to study them yourself in order to understand the curse on Father._

"I insist on some respect from you, Draco."

_He what? _Draco stared, unsure if the demand or Potter calling him by his first name surprised him more. Did Potter understand how impossible it was for Draco to give him that because he called for it? He had to do something to _earn _respect first. Only family members received unconditional emotions. Draco would set limits even on his hatred when he found it interfering unjustifiably with his obligations.

"If you're continually questioning me in the midst of delicate operations and insulting me, you'll take up valuable time I could be using to cure your father."

_He practically admitted that he couldn't cure Lucius, and now he claims he wants to try anyway? _Draco was glad he didn't live in close proximity to Potter on a regular basis. His friends probably needed Mind-Healers merely from trying to keep up with the swift change of his moods.

"I don't promise not to ask questions at all," he said, largely because Lucius had pressed a finger to the inside of his wrist, and he knew that his father would require a verbal answer to satisfy him. It would probably escape Potter's notice that Draco hadn't actually _agreed_ to his other ridiculous request. Of course, Draco could feign respect, and that would be good enough for a man who didn't have parents to fall back on, never mind a pure-blood family.

"Reasonable questions are fine," Potter said. "Unreasonable ones can wait."

And then, exactly as Draco raised his eyes to Potter's face, he did—_that_.

He smiled.

Draco had been sure he had memories of Potter with a smiling face. If he did, he learned in that moment, they were years out of date, and he had only ever seen a sneer or a smirk or a smile on the edge of tears. This was full, this was _real_. Potter looked at Draco as if he were the center of the universe, as if light glittered on his head, as if he had a pocket full of Galleons that he would spend on needy Muggle orphans at will.

He looked as if he were interested in him.

Draco could not remember the last time someone save Narcissa or Lucius had done that.

He could feel himself blinking, his jaw dropping, but he didn't care. He couldn't have held his reaction in, dangerous as it was to get used to expressing emotion. That would have been less than genuine tribute to Potter and the rich and rare property he represented. Potter arched an eyebrow curiously, as if he didn't understand, but that didn't matter. Draco understood, and Lucius, who touched his wrist again. Draco didn't have to glance at his father to know there was a hint of smugness in the expression.

Yes, perhaps Potter's honesty and forthrightness had their value after all.

A shiver of desire dried Draco's throat. He could bed someone who smiled at him like that. He could have a more lasting relationship with him than he could with most who were not part of the family. He wanted—

"Combined with what you told me yesterday about Smythe and the Aurors' report," Potter said then, "I'm confident his motive was revenge. We know he wanted your death to be painful and lingering. That gives me a few ideas about what spell he could have used. I'll return tomorrow and let you know what I've found."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Lucius said. Draco glanced briefly at his face. Yes, smugness about the corners of his eyes. He knew his estimation of Potter had proven more correct than his son's. "You have proven yourself more competent than I could have dreamed."

"You dreamed about me often?"

And Draco's perception of Potter changed _again._ He scowled and didn't try to prevent himself from doing so. Potter gave him a half-glance as he left again.

_How in the world am I supposed to decide if I want him? He goes from splendid to arrogant in two minutes, from heroic to vulgar. Perhaps we might be compatible in bed, but I would never like or trust him in the long term._

But the memory of that smile still made Draco want to fuck him. Another paradox. He could imagine those green eyes widening up at him, that smile gaping into a slack grimace of passion, even as he knew he would flinch at the words that emerged after the sex.

"You are too stern, Draco."

Draco turned with a slowness to face his father that Lucius would understand very well. Sternness was a family virtue. If anything, Lucius should be encouraging him to show it.

"We are limited in our choices." His father had sat upright against the pillows, though the effort made sweat start on his face, and he stared at Draco with a slight relaxation of the lucid mask he wore over his emotions in public. That alone was a sign of how disappointed he was in Draco. "We do not have a private Healer. We have no member of our family who possesses Healer training."

"I can brew the potions." Draco folded his arms. Lucius would read that relaxation of Draco's armor in much the same way Draco read the loosening of his father's mask. "Let me treat you."

"The knowledge of spells—"

"Potter doesn't _possess _that," said Draco. "He's a _mediwizard._"

"Who possesses skills that may be more valuable to us than mere Healer training." Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I trust I need not enumerate them?"

Draco thought of protesting that Lucius had just said Healer training _was _valuable, but instead a reluctant smile touched his lips. Lucius was already thinking of ways to use Potter. He could strategize from the middle of his hospital bed, which meant he did not think he was going to die.

Draco could already imagine the shadows lifting from his mother's eyes when he told her the good news. She would have allowed herself to despair if Lucius had despaired. And then she would have lifted her chin and sallied forth to the protection of the family in any case. But at least this proved that the burden was not one she need bear.

"Do you really think he'll continue to be valuable after you're cured?" he asked. No matter how much Lucius worked to convince him, Draco was not yet ready to say that Potter would be the one to cure his father. "What if he doesn't want to leave the hospital and his other patients who mean so much to him?"

"A man like Potter will go where the need is greatest." Lucius splayed his fingers delicately above his heart. "I am sure I can convince him that my need is the greatest in his immediate vicinity, for a time. And then we will have other means to bind him to us." He gave Draco a significant look.

Draco inclined his head. _Think of the fucking as for your own pleasure and the family's use, _he told himself. _It should not matter, then, if Potter kisses you with the same mouth out of which he flirts with your father._

* * *

"Mr. Malfoy?" The man striding through the door didn't seem discomfited to realize that there was more than one man in the room he might address by that name; he simply nodded to Draco and repeated, "Mr. Malfoy. My name is Julius Adoranar. I'm one of the Aurors working on the Smythe case, here to report what we've learned so far."

Draco bristled without moving a muscle. His father reached out to him without moving one, either. The blink of one eye was enough, in the way the lid deliberately descended and the lashes flattened along his cheek for a moment. Lucius wanted Draco to be still and not interrupt whatever Adoranar was about to say, and Draco still obeyed his father when he thought his commands worthy.

Adoranar was taller than Draco himself, and his eyes were as gray. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, in a style that Draco would have considered handsome. He moved in a graceful, fluid way that made Draco think he'd had dancer's training, and was probably _designed _to make others think he'd had dancer's training, though if he had, Draco would eat Muggle crisps. He knew exactly what his good looks were like, from the smile behind the smile he wore, in the same way Potter _didn't _know what his smile did to his face.

Draco despised people like this. They had so little reason for vanity, and yet they insisted others indulge theirs.

"Please proceed," Lucius said, his voice calm and so composed that Draco felt a brief frisson of envy lick up his cheek like a cool tongue.

Adoranar stood up straight and began to recite details with his hands behind his back, for all the world like a schoolboy. Draco curled his tongue within his mouth as he listened, in place of curling his lip. All the information was stale; they had already known that Smythe appeared to have some insane grudge against his father, and that he refused to take Veritaserum and confirm what spell he'd used against Lucius, and that the spell was complicated and dark, and that it would be weeks before the Aurors had any answers. But Adoranar spoke as if he thought the mere favor of speaking ought to endear him to them, and then finished and gave a meaningful wink and stare in Draco's direction.

_And now he's chosen me to indulge his vanity for him. Of course he has. _Draco turned his head away and half-closed his eyes. He would not degrade himself by noticing Adoranar's interest.

"But what else do you know about Smythe's motives?" he forced himself to ask, because there was a slight chance Adoranar might know more than he had let on so far. "Is the tale that he believes my father raped his daughter true?"

Potter stepped into the room before Draco could properly finish his sentence. He nodded to Lucius first, and then to Draco. He didn't seem to realize he had _interrupted. _Instead, he said, "Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. I have a suspect for the third spell Smythe might have cast under the Cutting Curse and the Permanency Spell. If I'm right, it gave Smythe control over your body's healing, but little enough control to frustrate his purpose of opening constant bloody wounds in you."

"How interesting," Lucius said. "Please proceed."

Potter moved forwards, and then Adoranar stepped in front of him to stop him. Potter looked up at him with a face he could probably persuade himself was blank if he saw it in the mirror, but Draco understood the situation at once. Adoranar made a caressing gesture that Potter stepped back from without appearing to realize he had done it, and he spoke in a husky voice as he said, "No word of greeting for me, Mediwizard Potter?"

"Greeting." Potter had the same dry insulting tone he used to speak to Lucius. The next moment, he was on the other side of Adoranar, though Draco had barely seen him move.

_They were lovers. _Adoranar's gaze following and lingering on Potter proclaimed it. The way Potter had flinched from the other man's touch confirmed it. The too-casual way Potter held his shoulders, as if he were unaware of the man gazing at his spine and arse, shouted it to anyone with eyes in a hundred-foot radius.

Reactions rushed through Draco, so strongly that he barely heard the words Potter spoke next, explaining the _Mansuefacio _spell to Lucius.

_I knew Potter was vulgar. He must have decided he had some emotional attachment to the man to take him to bed, and how could anyone have an emotional attachment to _that?

_Adoranar might have chosen to visit on purpose if he knew my father was Potter's patient—which means it wouldn't cost us as much if we antagonize him._

_I don't want him near Potter._

The last reaction would have surprised Draco a day ago, but he had seen that Potter had a few charms when he forgot to ride the stick of awful righteousness up his arse. And it was only right that he not want a love-struck Auror near Potter when Potter might be in the middle of those delicate proceedings he and Narcissa had both referenced.

"You were so courteous once," Adoranar was sighing at Potter. "I cannot believe you would snub me now."

Draco snorted, but made the snort so silent it only fluttered the outer edges of his nostrils. _He thinks talking like a third-rate courtier from one of Pansy's romance novels is the way to win Potter back?_

"I have heard of it," Lucius said, and Draco started. He would be referring to the _Mansuefacio_ spell, of course, not the romance novels Draco had been thinking of. "I believe it commands mental processes. Why should my unfortunate enemy have cast it on me, if he desired a physical effect?"

"Your education has been lacking, I see," Potter said. "A pity, though not astonishing by now."

Draco stared at him again, and might have made a noise. Potter stood in the middle of the room and spoke as if he said words like this every day. _By what right? Why does he speak to my father the way he would to any other patient?_

Potter continued as though he were unaware that he had to be the exception to the rule all the time, even in Draco's mind, which should be a protected space against Potter's uniqueness if any such existed. "The spell commands _parts _of the brain, not mental processes. It also touches on the body. The book I read last night—"

"Which one would that have been?" Draco demanded. Potter could _not _challenge his father's education and then speak of books neutrally.

He received a bright glare and a slight lowering of Potter's voice in consequence, which did wonders for Draco's cock. "_Bryony's History of Spells Marvelous and Depraved._" Draco had to admit that that was an adequate reference.

"Do forgive me," Potter continued, voice as delicate as a knife made for parting flesh from bone. "I ought to have included that in the sentence, for the sake of the specificity mediwizards are trained for. Said book suggested that the spellcaster might have seized control of a rival wizard's hand and thus his wand, by seizing control of the part of his brain that commanded the hand." He had already turned back to Lucius. Draco experienced a small shiver of repulsion. They were not in Hogwarts anymore, and Draco might be as important to the progress of the treatment as Lucius, since he was the one who would deliver selected Dark Arts books to Potter and stay in hospital to protect Lucius. He deserved the courtesy of equal address, if nothing else.

"And in this case, he would have gained control of the part of my brain that regulates the body's healing." Lucius had a deep line between his brows, which Draco did not approve of, but could understand in this instance. Potter had to have evidence of an emotional reaction, or he would have probably assumed something more than the obvious was wrong with his patient and tried to intervene in unlikely and ill-advised ways. "Could he still have it? Could he use it from a distance? The Imperius Curse, at least, has the advantage of the caster needing to be close when he gives his orders."

"I would question how such a worthy man knows the secrets of the Imperius Curse," Potter said, "but I forgot that you were under it for some years when the Dark Lord first rose."

Draco stared. _He _might have hesitated to say such a thing in Lucius's presence; one thing they did not _joke _about was the war. And Potter spoke as boldly as if he were part of the family—

Draco clenched one hand into the folds of skin about his waist. Awareness of Adoranar's gaze firmly fixed on Potter meandered through his mix of clashing and clinging and changing emotions.

Potter evidently decided not to linger and enjoy his triumph, the first wisdom he had shown since entering the room this morning. "And the answer is that I'm not sure whether Smythe could still have such control. I need to test for the presence of the spell first."

Lucius nodded. "By all means."

"Father—" Draco began, and then stopped himself with a sharp snap to his lip. What was he _thinking_? Challenges should not be so open. He was merely startled that Lucius had agreed to what could be an invasive spell without even asking Potter questions about how it worked. But what was mere startlement now might be a sign of growing inattentiveness in the future, and the first enemy to notice could attack them and take great advantage.

"Do you have reason to distrust me?" Potter said, spinning on him.

Draco enforced silence and stillness on himself for a moment before he reacted. The mere sight of Potter's green eyes had scattered his thoughts. That was _not _good.

"Call it, rather, distrust in your education," Draco said at last, taking a step forwards and folding his arms. Potter half-bowed his head and looked an inch away from laughing. Draco wondered why. _Surely he should be glad to see me acting more human_. "You lack the ability to become a full Healer, or you would have become one."

"I am glad to see that _your _education has imbued you with the ability to make such stunning leaps of logic," Potter snapped, and then he wheeled away as if ashamed of himself, softening his voice. Draco wanted to roll his eyes. _Did he think my father was politely not listening when he grew angry at me?_ "The final decision, as always, rests with the patient. Mr. Malfoy, do you wish me to fetch a full Healer who might treat you?"

"Would they be as committed to my physical safety?" Lucius asked. "Or as willing to be in the same room with me?"

"The only one I can think of is already overloaded with cases. It would be trading your current physical safety for the _possible _attendance of a Healer more skilled in potions than I am."

"Then I decline such attendance," Lucius said. "My son is studying for his mastery in potions. He can surely supply any knowledge that you lack."

Potter nodded, and set to work. Draco watched as the blue magic crept over his father's body and towards his brain, and allowed himself only a blink and shift of weight. Until—

"I always did like watching you work," Adoranar sighed like a love-sick Hufflepuff, stepping up behind Potter and bending his head as if he would snuffle the back of Potter's neck. "Such grace, such skill and power!"

_And Potter remained with this git for months? _Draco thought in befuddlement. _It must have been months, if they had sex. His sensibilities wouldn't allow him to climb into bed with anyone he knew less well than that. Well, no matter. Next to this idiot, I will seem positively a feast._

Potter had already returned to casting by the time Draco paid attention again. The entire room filled with a tense glitter, and Draco had to watch dancing lights pulse and play around his father's body without knowing what half of them did. Lucius was no help; he had deliberately adopted his thickest mask, the one that made him look like a devotee of some strange religion awaiting an oracle, and Draco would not be permitted to know and soothe his fear or his anger until they were behind the walls of the Manor.

And then Adoranar reached out as if he would rest a hand on Potter's shoulder and interrupt him.

Draco moved with a speed that he knew blurred him in the eyes of his opponents, at the same time uttering a low, menacing hiss that would catch Adoranar's attention whilst not disrupting Potter's casting. Adoranar started back, and Draco arranged himself with arms folded behind Potter.

Only then did it occur to him that he had reacted as he did when a family member was threatened.

_Of course I did, _he told himself irritably. _My father is threatened if Potter's spell is interrupted, either with direct magical recoil or because he might not detect some of the harmful spells he needs to detect._

And if the explanation was not true at the moment, Draco was sure it would be in another moment. Only wait around Potter for a time, and your mood would change to match his.

"I wasn't trying to do anything!" Adoranar protested.

Draco smiled, and was glad to feel the edges of the expression cutting into the sides of his face. _This _was simple. _This _was a threat, and he had long ago learned all the blades of sarcasm he needed for trimming a threat down to size.


	4. Potter Has Poor Taste in Lovers

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Four—Potter Has Poor Taste in Lovers_

"Excuse me for misinterpreting your movement," Draco said in a tone that made Adoranar smile for a moment, before his mind caught up with the words instead of the sound of them. "I took it as your doing _something_, when I should have seen that of course you were doing nothing instead. My eyes or my philosophy tricked me. I shall have to do a thing about that, and it will have to be something instead of nothing."

The Auror blinked and shifted his weight. Draco let his grin split more of his face. Adoranar had not the least idea how to respond, that was clear. He gnawed his lip for a moment before he decided to ignore the word-games and bull ahead.

"You can't keep me from Harry," he said. "He's only your father's mediwizard. He was _mine._" He looked triumphantly at Draco, as if he had just checkmated him.

"I do not take claims of possession seriously, not when the one making the claim cannot even trouble himself to speak the name of the relationship aloud," said Draco, and smiled back at Adoranar. "Besides, I was under the impression that you were not _lovers _currently. You must have done something that angered him."

"Him and his standards!" Adoranar didn't seem to care how much he was revealing with that statement, or how profoundly Draco disagreed; a man who slept with someone like Adoranar in the first place could not have high standards. On the one hand, that was excellent news, because Draco knew the experience of real skill behind the lovemaking would make Potter easier to seduce. On the other, Draco would have to cast several spells that tested for diseases first, and that was hard to do unobtrusively.

"If he had only listened to me when I told him that I could maintain two relationships at one time because they were so different," Adoranar continued, either oblivious of Draco's attention or simply confident that nothing he could do would make him appear bad, "then we could have continued."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Yes, he could understand Potter giving up Adoranar in that instance, even if he could not understand the initial attraction. Draco himself put a premium on exclusive attention from his lovers.

"It sounds to me as though he had excellent reason to refuse you," he said. "It also sounds as if your attempt to interfere with him now is little more than a crude and ill-timed seduction. Do you really think he needs that, when he's under enough stress at the moment simply tending to my father?"

Adoranar gave him a look with so much condescension mixed into it that Draco was reluctantly impressed. His mother might not have been able to better that if she tried. But then, practice often availed little against natural talent, as Draco had had to learn himself when he played Potter in Quidditch. "If I distract him now, there will be _less _stress," Adoranar explained. "He's always less stressed after sex."

Draco crushed the temptation to put his hand over his eyes. Yes, Adoranar was so stupid that he was unlikely to understand the depth of emotional reaction it conveyed, but sometimes it was just those enemies you assumed were wastes of flesh and bone who turned out to be the most clever at divining irrational things like feelings.

"He doesn't want to have sex right now," said Draco. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Potter swaying softly in place, his lips barely moving as he waved his wand back and forth. Draco felt a shiver of fear and distrust when he saw his father lying there, the target of the healing spells, forced to accept them, but Adoranar made an incredulous sound and tried to step past him again, giving him a good distraction. Draco gave him a knife-edged, pitying smile. "Don't you _understand _that? You, who claim to love him so well?"

"He often thinks he doesn't want sex," said Adoranar comfortably. "And then it turns out he does, once I coax him a bit."

Draco curled his tongue within his mouth. He couldn't see Potter allowing himself to be raped no matter how much in love he was, so Adoranar must have been referring to willing sex. But if it was reluctant in the beginning—Draco could not imagine a worse insult. That would imply that the other person had yielded simply because of lust or because he wanted to make Draco comfortable. And Draco demanded whole-hearted commitment of body and brain when he seduced someone. He was glad to have learned these details about Potter's sex life, no matter how distasteful the circumstances under which he had to learn them. He would have to exert a little more effort, then, in order to make Potter yield instead of remain in his own head.

He heard laughter behind him then. He stiffened so he wouldn't spin around. Potter's laughter—he knew the sound of his father's voice, as well as he knew Lucius would not laugh in such an open place, in front of such enemies—trickled like warm water into the corners of his mind not occupied with worry, and bathed even the worry in a heat that made him want to touch Potter's hair or arm. The laughter implied closeness. It would be only right to push that closeness into physical nearness.

"I am glad to hear that the news is good," said Lucius, in that voice he used when he wanted someone else to know he wasn't impressed. "At least to you."

"Smythe did cast _Mansuefacio_," Potter said, and Draco recognized the name of the spell Potter had been talking about earlier. He felt a trickle of surprise join the trickles of comfort in his mind. Perhaps Potter knew what he was about, only being a mediwizard aside. "As soon as I can find a counter to it, I can—"

And then he caught his breath into a silence that expressed more than any indrawn curse could. Draco locked his legs against turning around—not least because Adoranar had a glazed expression on his face as he stared at Potter, and might attempt to interfere again at any moment—and listened instead.

"Smythe wove a construct of spells, not just one," Potter said, and his voice was filled with as much disgust and tension as Draco could have wished to hear. Potter was not a member of the family and could not be expected to act like one, but it seemed he had an ordinary Healer's instinct for the care of his patients. "_Mansuefacio _is tied to a fourth spell, and the fourth spell may be tied to a fifth one. I wonder if he cast them on purpose, or in a panic, one after another, when he realized the first few weren't working the way he intended them to." Draco heard the shuffle of his feet and the intake of his breath. "Auror—"

Draco held a dark smile off from his face, and imagined the way the scene would look to Potter. He would see Draco standing behind him like a bodyguard, arms still folded, setting his strength like a wall between him and interruption. And he was the kind of person who might take that as a compliment to _him_, rather than Draco simply wanting to protect Lucius.

"What happened?" Potter said, moving forwards far enough that Draco could see him out of the corner of his eye.

"He was about to interrupt you again whilst you cast, the brainless idiot." Draco let some of his contempt weigh down his voice. Potter deserved to hear how little value Draco placed on his ex-lover. "He doesn't seem to have considered the harm unrestrained healing magic could do to my father's body and brain." He let his shoulders twitch and heard Potter release a sigh that contained a muffled curse.

"I merely wanted to ask you a question." Adoranar lowered his eyes. Draco blinked his contempt this time. If he had learned to use that expression in his conflicts with Potter, it was only another sign that Potter had let him get away with things he shouldn't have in their relationship. Really, he had _terrible _taste in lovers.

"As it happens, your question will have to wait, because I have more important ones," Potter said. His voice was sharp with salt, and Draco could catch a glimpse of a congealed expression that would probably have put off anyone less persistent than Adoranar. "What degree of planning does Smythe appear to have brought to this? Did he speak of plotting carefully and calculating the effects of each spell, or might he have cast recklessly, wildly, trying to snatch back control as each piece of magic went awry?"

Adoranar sighed and took a step back from Draco so he could stand straighter. He tucked his chin into his shoulder, too, and Draco could only imagine the compliments Potter must have offered him in the past to make him decide that was a flattering posture. "You know how poor my memory's always been, Harry, and how much I dislike speaking in front of crowds. If you would come into the corridor with me for a moment, I'm sure we could have a more fruitful discussion."

Draco blinked. Perhaps he couldn't assign all the blame for Potter's vulgarity to _him_, after all. Perhaps he'd been corrupted by the company he kept. Had Adoranar really just offered to give them the information he should have handed over freely if Potter had sex with him?

Draco heard a half-hissed breath that reminded him of Parseltongue, and then Potter spoke. Draco felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. So Potter _did _have the capacity for cold anger after all. It was rarely found among half-bloods, and made him the more interesting to Draco.

"Pardon me for asking the question. I _do _remember how poor your memory is, Auror Adoranar. You forgot your wedding ring at home for seven months whilst you visited my house."

Draco couldn't help himself; he laughed. He saw Potter's eye turn towards him, but since Potter was unfamiliar with the Malfoy code of conduct, Draco decided the sound was worth the risk; Potter wouldn't know how rare it was that Draco laughed, or what it meant. Better still, it visibly deflated Adoranar, who crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he were trying to stem the flow of blood from the invisible wound of his humiliation.

"Well, I really can't say what Smythe had planned or hadn't planned." Adoranar pouted. He didn't make an effort to sound like an adult, Draco thought, amused but not amazed, not anymore. "We had no reason to suspect multiple spells, so I didn't ask about them, or listen for clues that might have confirmed their existence."

"Thank you, Auror," Potter said. Draco expected him to bow, the way _he _would have himself after delivering such a polite blow, but instead he turned back to Lucius. "I do apologize, Mr. Malfoy. It seems my investigation will be still more prolonged. Perhaps I could simply cast as many _Finites _as there are spells and end them that way, but without knowing how they are joined—whether simply piled one on top of each other or joined together in a net—doing so could damage you. And I suspect the solution is more complicated, in any case."

Draco let his eyebrows rise. Potter understood spell mazes, then, and the complicated patterns they could knot in, and how dangerous it could be to try and break one. It was more than Draco had hoped for.

"Competence can take as long as it needs," Lucius murmured, and closed his eyes. Draco caught his breath as his mother entered the hospital room. He hadn't seen the signal which Lucius had used to summon her. Or maybe they had conversed together that morning and arranged for her to come in now. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw the Auror turn tail. He wondered if Potter had seen the look Narcissa had sent his way, like an icicle drill. "Now, Mr. Potter, is there anything else you need to discuss with me, or can I converse with my wife in private for a time?"

"Nothing else," Potter said. This time, he did bow as Narcissa stopped beside her husband and stroked his hair back. Perhaps he could appreciate indulgent tenderness as he could not appreciate the subtler emotions, Draco thought. "I shall continue reading, and hope to bring better news the next time I come."

Potter left the room. Draco glanced over his shoulder once, and Narcissa caught his eye. That alone was enough to make Draco turn away. His father did mean a _private _conversation this time, in spite of Draco's volunteering to stay with him so that none of his enemies in hospital could kill him. Draco supposed he was safe enough with Narcissa. The only trouble might be if his mother mistook a friendly overture for a hostile one and Transfigured the offender into a gibbering ball of flesh before someone could tell her the truth.

Meanwhile, Potter was ahead of him, checking his watch. Draco sped up subtly to catch him. Potter would be in a vulnerable mood at the moment, doubtless, with the appearance of his ex-lover stirring up thoughts of sex and perhaps thoughts of mourning, if he still regretted that he'd had to get rid of Adoranar. Draco could think of no better time to catch him off-guard and begin his seduction.

He reached out and clasped Potter's arm, making sure he still smiled when the gesture made Potter spin around. Inwardly, Draco snorted at the closed cast of Potter's face, the tight lines around his mouth and nostrils that clamped them almost shut. How in the world did he think he was going to attract someone to replace Adoranar, if he went around looking as if he smelled the inside of the Weasleys' home?

"Since my mother is sitting with my father, I have some time to spare," he said. "Would you mind if I accompanied you to your lunch? I'm rather a stranger to this part of London and don't know the best places to eat." He widened his smile, having decided that subtlety was wasted on Potter. "And I do want to thank you for trying to save my father's life."

For long moments, Potter simply stared at him, blinking slowly, making Draco fear that his efforts were wasted. And then he smiled again, and Draco caught his breath. He could grow used to having that smile directed his way. He wondered absently if it was the way Potter would look when Draco showed him how very well he sucked cock. He lifted the hand he had on Potter's arm to trail light fingers towards his elbow.

"I didn't thank you for preventing that prat from interfering with my spell, either," Potter murmured. He spoke with such calmness that it took Draco a long moment to realize Potter was not actually accepting his offer. "So you've done as much to preserve your father's life as I have, this morning. By the way, thank you." He bowed and gently pulled, wringing his arm free of Draco's grasp. "I'm afraid I can't oblige you, though, since I'm not going to lunch."

Draco blinked at him. "But it's almost noon," he said. Questions he would not ask drummed against the inside of his skull with soft wings like a covey of quail. _Aren't you hungry? I would be myself, if I had to go through the effort of casting a spell like the one you used on Father and then through a confrontation with a lover I despised in the same few hours. And lunch at noon is one general custom worth keeping._

"I know," Potter said, "but most days I simply don't have enough time. I won't today, either, before my attendance is required on the third floor in—" He checked his watch, and Draco saw his throat bob as he swallowed. What emotion had he just held back? Irritation, pride, annoyance? Surely not arousal, as much as Draco would have liked to think he was succeeding in inspiring that at this early stage. "Twenty-five minutes. I'll have enough time to go to my cubicle, relax for a few minutes, and swallow a potion I need, but that's all."

Draco wanted to tell Potter how strange he found him, but that would never have done even if Potter was part of the family. One did not openly express puzzlement unless it could be done in such a way to embarrass an enemy. "What potion do you need?" he asked. Perhaps this was a way he could get close to Potter even if Potter distrusted his lunch invitations for some reason.

"Oh, a common one I have on hand." Potter gave him a smile so devoid of meaning that it made Draco want to grip his shoulders and shake him. Potter seemed to be doing his best to hide weakness from Draco, but that made no sense. He wasn't part of a pure-blood family; he didn't live within a world that feared and distrusted him for his traditions. Far from it, in fact. Draco could not discern where he would have learned his caution.

"A headache draught?" Draco asked, making a guess based on the number of lines in Potter's forehead and the way he walked with his eyes half-shut. Potter stared at him, and Draco smiled at him again, seeing a way to turn even Potter's reluctance to his advantage. "I saw you rubbing your forehead earlier." It could do no harm for Potter to think he was even more obvious than he already was, and it would make him warm to Draco, to know how closely Draco was watching him. "And I know another cure for that." He lifted his hands to press on Potter's temples and squeeze away the pain. He could already hear the sinful groan Potter would give on being touched that way, and see the arch of his back as he yielded.

It occurred to Draco that he was perhaps spending too much time and thought on Potter's reactions. He dismissed the idea. He was having fun, and he would end up by binding someone important to Lucius and potentially valuable to the Malfoy line, so what did it matter?

And then it didn't matter, because Potter reacted as though Draco had tried to cast _Crucio_ on him through his fingers. He ducked his head and scuttled away, then jerked around, his movements as stiff as a puppet's. Draco let his hands fall, staring. If a more shameless rejection of a massage existed, he didn't know what it was.

"Potter!"

A bald man with large eyes like a dying vulture's had appeared behind Potter. Draco curled his lip, uncaring if he saw. He doubted that this man could do anything to hurt Lucius, even if he did wear a Healer's robe and even if Potter did incline his head to him as if he were someone to be respected.

"Healer," Potter said.

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. He was sure he could see scorn around the edges of Potter's mouth, but he still half-bowed to the Healer and seemed cringingly eager to please him. Perhaps he should be grateful that Potter had let Draco know how much he despised him. He might not ever have been able to tell otherwise.

Then he wanted to roll his eyes at himself. There was no way that Potter was _that _good an actor.

"One of your former _partners_ is downstairs again, insisting on seeing you," the Healer said, in a tone that did credit to his judgment. Going by what he had seen of Adoranar, Draco doubted any other ex-lover of Potter's would be a prize, either.

Potter paled for a moment, then gave a jerky nod and hurried forwards. Draco remained where he was, arms folded, until the Healer and Potter had both departed around the corner. Then he gave in to curiosity and followed.

If he understood more about Potter's ex-lovers, then surely he stood a better chance of knowing more about Potter. And then he could understand why Potter would sleep with someone like Adoranar and shy away from Draco's own good-natured touch.

_Especially when he still has a headache and won't even put this Healer off long enough to take a potion for it. Not eating, acting as if he doesn't notice physical pain…I would say that Potter poses as much of a danger to his own health as attacks from our enemies do._

* * *

"I received your communication."

Narcissa needed to do no more than edge those words with ice. Lucius understood her, from the way he bowed his head. Narcissa lifted her chin and waited for an explanation, her hand moving to the back of her husband's neck, where her fingers could close in an unobtrusive pinch.

"It was necessary," Lucius said. His breath gusted over the hand that lay on his chest.

"It was _dangerous,_" Narcissa said. "When you bear a spell that could damage you further with every magical effort that you expend—"

"Then merely breathing is dangerous," Lucius snapped, leaning up on one elbow so that he could stare at her. "Since some magical theorists believe that a wizard's every breath is tinged with magic."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes and waited. After a moment, Lucius seemed to realize how vulgar he was being, shouting into her face, and leaned back against his pillow with a curt little nod, though she didn't know if he realized he was nodding at nothing. "It was necessary," he repeated softly. "Based on what Potter discovered."

And he repeated what Potter had told him about _Mansuefacio_ and a spell-maze. Narcissa listened without comment, though her fingers did relax from their grip on the back of her husband's neck and fall down on his shoulder again.

Lucius had contacted her with a form of telepathy that only the head of the Malfoy family and his or her spouse could employ. It was powerful, very dangerous, and very draining. Lucius had, luckily, not tried to linger long or Narcissa would have snapped at him; he had simply sent her a blast of his need for her and a summons to come at once, then dropped out of her mind, leaving Narcissa to make her polite excuses to the minor cousin of the Goyle family she was having tea with.

Draco did not know about the telepathy, though he had long since accepted that his parents seemed to instinctively realize when one of them needed the other. Narcissa had wanted to tell him, but Lucius had insisted that it was a secret that could only be passed on to the heir of the Malfoys when the head of the family was on his deathbed.

Narcissa could not truly object. Draco had been raised as the heir of the Malfoy bloodline, not the Black, and that meant the traditions he should accept and believe in were the Malfoy ones.

But it also meant that he was blind to some aspects of Lucius's personality Narcissa saw with perfect clarity. When Lucius spoke vaguely of the use that he meant to put Potter to and how he had encouraged Draco's plans to seduce Potter because of that, Narcissa bent her head and let her lips curve on the side of her face aimed away from her husband.

_You have no concrete plans to handle Potter yet, my strength. You simply wanted to sound mysterious and powerful for Draco, you wanted to make it sound as if you had predicted the matter if Potter turns out to be useful later, and you wanted an escape from Draco's concern, which can be—obsessive—at times._

But because they understood each other, Narcissa did not have to speak that understanding aloud. She said softly, "You want me to hunt among the Death Eater families for those who might have knowledge of spell mazes?"

Lucius squeezed her hand without reply. Narcissa kissed his temple and began to think of plans she could use to discover the truth, absently noting that Draco had not come back yet. Perhaps he was more interested in Potter than Narcissa had given him credit for when she thought it was merely a scheme of Lucius's.

That might be all to the good, as well. Narcissa had been the guardian of the Malfoy family's social reputation for the last three decades, whilst Lucius negotiated the political side of things. Perhaps Potter was not useful in the ways that Lucius and Draco would immediately think of—monetarily or magically—but there were some people who would look at Narcissa with more respect in their eyes for the mere sake of an association with Potter.

_This is why I agreed to marry him, in the end, _she thought, as Lucius briefly leaned towards her so that his hair brushed her forearm, where the Dark Mark had never burned. _Because we work well together and because we had the potential for both power and unity that a pure-blood family so badly needs._

_Love is because of power and unity and the contribution that one can make to a family. As soon as Draco understands that, then he can cease this pathetic search for a perfect mate and instead find someone who will _work.


	5. Reversal

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Five—Reversal_

Potter was entertaining, Draco had to give him that. When his ex-partner's voice soared up the stairs, promising dire things if Potter didn't appear at once, he leaped down the last several stairs and threw a flurry of golden sparks about him as he went.

Draco stationed himself unobtrusively in the shadows at the top of the staircase, not far from the voracious-looking Healer who had summoned Potter to the attendance of his impatient lover. The man Potter confronted seemed to promise better things than Adoranar, at least as far as looks went. Adoranar had been handsome, but it was a collated, common kind of handsomeness; one could find his features in half-a-dozen other men without looking. _This _man had silvery-gray hair despite the youth of his face and blue-green eyes Draco could make out from here.

For a moment, he pictured this man kneeling above Potter, thrusting into him, those vivid eyes alight with pleasure. Draco dismissed the fantasy with an irritated toss of his head. He had no idea what positions Potter preferred or what he looked like when he was about to come. Perhaps he would be ugly, his mouth slack and letting a line of drool roll down his chin, as happened to some men Draco had had the misfortune to fall into bed with.

Draco hoped not, for his own sake.

"I thought perhaps a threat would bring you more quickly than coaxing," the man said, and Draco set himself to watch and listen. The man had his hand held out to Potter, but Potter refused to accept it. Draco couldn't blame him. On the other hand, he could blame Potter for not using a subtle, irrevocable curse on the bastard for the insult. Anyone who summoned _him_ in such an undignified manner would have had that much to answer for. "Never mind that it didn't work once. We always deserve second chances, you and I."

"I know as well as you do that it isn't second chances that brought you here today," Potter said. He hissed as if he were speaking Parseltongue. When he motioned with his wand towards the other, Draco saw in his motion all that anger his holding back of a curse seemed to deny. "Why are you here?"

The man pressed a hand melodramatically over his heart. Draco frowned. Yes, really, Potter had execrable taste in lovers. _Does that mean he will thwart all my advances in favor of picking up some Mudblood mediwitch who watches her patients with cows' eyes? _"Why, Harry, aren't I allowed to try to help my lover advance in life?"

Draco didn't like the man addressing Potter by his first name. From the ugly emotion that wrinkled his face, neither did Potter. "I'm not your lover."

_Is his definition of that label tied to physical intimacy, then? _Draco bit his thumb thoughtfully, content to do so because he was unobserved. _That might mean problems, were we to try and bind him to stronger service to the family. He and I would not spend all our time in bed._

"No," said the idiot confronting Potter. Draco watched with a slightly parted mouth as he tried to _intimidate _Potter, leaning towards him and speaking with an anger-stained expression and harsh tones in his voice. Didn't he know that trying to tower over Potter, short as he was, didn't work? Draco had had to learn these things by trial and error, but _he_ had spent enough time with Potter to have known them already. "And I'm going to make you regret that for the rest of your life."

_And how would he do that? _Draco raised a cynical eyebrow. _I don't care how many friends he's got, Potter has still more influence, not least because of his name._

He watched Potter shift his shoulders as if he were wondering how he had come to be stuck with this burden. "You know I'm perfectly happy being a mediwizard," Potter murmured. "Surely someone with your intellect could have understood that."

"But you _should _have been a hero." The other man smiled in the way that Draco had seen Pansy use when she wanted to strangle her mother for getting pregnant when Pansy was nineteen. "No matter how poor your qualifications for it are."

Draco felt his breath coming faster, shallow and hungry. This was the source of the conflict between Potter and his lover, then? He had wanted to date more than a mediwizard, and Potter had not cared to oblige him?

Draco thought he had just gained a valuable piece of advice about seducing Potter. Don't refer to his lack of skill, then; that would win a cheerful acknowledgment from him at best. Take an interest in what healing skills he _did _have, instead. Speak of being sure that he could cure Lucius. Flatter his self-confidence, which seemed lacking—or else he would have adopted a more commanding air towards people he had no reason to either like or trust, such as Adoranar—and coax out the anger Draco could read in his stance now.

That should result in a swifter welcome to his bed. And, Draco could admit, he would take some pleasure in seeing Potter smile at him with more reason and more frequency.

Potter leaned towards the other man then, and said something Draco couldn't hear. Draco stirred impatiently. _Doesn't he realize there's an audience up here who needs to know what he's like?_

Luckily, the melodramatic idiot seemed to realize it. Draco would have blessed him if he could have thought well of someone who had managed to drive Potter from his side. "Yes. A sheep-like willingness to sacrifice yourself, as you've told me multiple times—"

"No." Potter said, and raised his voice. Draco smiled. There was something to admire in the way that Potter turned from side to side, collecting gazes and interest, dissipating the power of the private conference between his ex-lover and himself, which might have inspired the man to think he could win Potter back otherwise. _Perhaps he's not as uncomfortable with his influence as he appears, only unwilling to use it. _"It also took courage to walk to my death. No one else who was still alive knew I'd have to sacrifice myself to kill Voldemort. I could have run away and denied my destiny. I didn't. And then I still faced Voldemort afterwards, when he had the Elder Wand and could probably have destroyed me.

"And it's courage that leads to my going in among patients every day and facing diseases and curses, magic gone awry and poisons, that you'd never be able to stomach. You're more comfortable with the idea of a hero who comes home with his own blood on him than you are with the idea that I've got the blood plunging my hands wrist-deep into someone else's wound."

Draco licked his lips. His mouth was dry with desire again, and he couldn't blame the other man for the stricken look on his face. If he had any familiarity with pure-blood society at all, then he would know how many people valued the kind of courage Potter had just described. Granted, it had to be tamed instead of allied to Gryffindor impulsiveness, and it was properly employed in the defense of the family, not in killing Dark Lords who might have bettered the position of the Malfoys with a little careful handling. But it was _rare. _

There might be reasons to court Potter beyond the immediate advantage in caring for his father, Draco thought.

"I never was what you wanted, Xavier," Potter said. Though he stood with his back half-turned to Draco and thus he couldn't be sure, Draco thought he was smiling. "But maybe you'll learn to appreciate me for what I am, if you come watch me perform surgery and—"

Xavier turned and stalked away. Draco restrained a triumphant laugh as he understood Potter's strategy. Xavier—and Draco meant to discover his surname as soon as he could—must have a dislike for surgery. Yes, he had made a mistake when he let Potter go, but he seemed to have made a greater one choosing him for a lover in the first place.

The Healer who was Potter's superior met him at the bottom of the stairs and began to talk to him. Potter bowed his head and said nothing. Draco, watching, felt impatience blaze up in him like a windy fire again. He had just seen that Potter _did _have the courage and the sharp tongue to resist the lecture the Healer was undoubtedly giving him, and his influence and powerful friends could not be in question. Why in the name of Merlin didn't he do it? Why did he accept the burdens others piled on him but accept no easing of them, such as Draco had tried to offer him with the massage to take the headache away?

Once, Draco and his mother had discussed what qualities, other than loyalty and willingness to defend the family, Draco should look for in a partner, and which ones would be most dangerous to him. Narcissa had named the willingness to suffer as one of the perilous qualities. Draco had sat up and stared at her.

"Think of it, dear one," his mother had said, leaning close. Her eyes were particularly intent that day, and Draco remembered she had worn her blonde hair bound on her head in a crown-shape, with pins stuck through it. She had rarely looked more beautiful. Of course, Draco understood that part of the reason she appeared that way was in order to better persuade him, but he could still admire the effect even as he analyzed it. "The willingness to suffer leads to a desire for suffering, in order that one may display one's great patience and fortitude underneath it. That becomes the opposite of strength. Hunger for pain is _not_ ability to suffer pain in a family's defense, which is a different and a virtue, more closely bound to the idea that one would do it in a time of need. The one who drives herself to seek out pain becomes a martyr, because she values the compassion and tribute wrung from others as she suffers more than she values good health."

Draco had agreed that martyrs were a troublesome breed, and sworn that he wouldn't seek out one as his prefect mate. Of course, back then he had thought it impossible he would ever be attracted to one.

Now he had to look at Potter and wonder if the presence of that personality quirk outweighed the other reasons to court him.

The source of his martyrdom mattered, Draco decided. If Potter endured pain because he believed he deserved no better, that was one kind, and perhaps easier to cure than the craving for pain his mother had described.

Potter looked up just then, as if he had sensed that Draco's thoughts orbited him. Draco met his eyes and nodded. Potter stared at him with challenge in his face, but Draco would learn how to get behind that challenge, knock it down, and give Potter pleasure as well as taking his own.

Since his mother was still with his father and thus Draco was not required to protect Lucius, he turned away to put his plan into motion. He could learn about Potter from the _Daily Prophet_. It was not Potter's true, conscious motives that he wanted to study, after all, but the unconscious ones revealed by his actions.

* * *

Draco pushed the last _Daily Prophet _away, frowning lightly. The house-elves had been all too glad to fetch the old papers for him; Lucius kept a library of them as he kept a library of every document that might someday be useful. And the documents library was a beautiful room to read in, silver and white with gently melting and freezing images on the walls that would change from random patterns into scenes of wizards taming centaurs, climbing snowy mountains, and walking through snow-covered, dense forests. This room was meant to convey a sense of challenge and overcoming those challenges.

No, Draco's perturbation came from elsewhere than his surroundings. He ran his thumb over his lips, pondering what he had learned—or not learned.

Potter had broken up with six lovers in the span of seven years. Four of the partings had been amicable; the two women Potter had dated, including the youngest Weasley, had said simply that they weren't right for each other in the inevitable interviews the _Prophet _managed to coax out of them. One of the men, Francis Belfield, had shrugged and said that he wished Potter well, but they weren't compatible. The other man, Gene—the _Prophet _report had been too intimidated or too lazy even to discover his last name—had shrugged and said nothing.

But Julius Adoranar and Xavier Brandeis, as the last lover's surname turned out to be… Draco shook his head, marveling. Adoranar had covered an entire two pages of the paper in what was more a monologue than an interview, lamenting that Potter clung to outdated moral standards that wouldn't let him understand the complexities of the human heart and how someone could love two people at once. From what he had seen of Adoranar, Draco suspected this translated to "how someone could have sex with two people at once," but Adoranar was the kind of hypocrite who would believe fervently that he was the wronged party, and do so no matter how much evidence was placed in front of him.

Brandeis was another matter. He had evidently constructed a false kidnapping plot that was meant to lure Potter into displaying his heroism. Instead, Potter had reacted like a sensible person and called the Aurors. Brandeis had broken up with him over it and spread bitter, loud rumors about what deficiencies Potter had in the bedchamber, whilst never being specific enough to get him sued.

Draco had to chuckle as he read that story, no matter what unfortunate things it said about Potter. At least he had matured in one way. He no longer regarded himself as someone who had to cure all the evils of the world as far as its Dark wizards went. He knew what was beyond his strength.

Unfortunately, the ability to embrace change seemed to be one of those things. In every story Draco had read, the strong impression he'd received was that his ex-lovers had left Potter, and not the other way around. He couldn't have been happy with either Adoranar or Brandeis, and yet he hadn't repudiated them. _They _had been the ones to decide that he didn't meet _their _standards.

_Impatient and without eyes, every one of them, _Draco thought in scorn. Belfield, at least, came from a pure-blood family, albeit a minor one. It was inexcusable that he shouldn't have realized what advantage Potter could offer to his family and fought to secure him for that reason alone. The result made it easier for Draco to capture him, but didn't prevent his contempt for Belfield.

The evidence pointed towards Potter being the sort of martyr who suffered pain and refused to change things and challenge for his proper place because he thought he didn't deserve any better. He would indignantly cast off the attentions of those trying to seduce him or make trouble for him, but only _after _he had got rid of them in the first place. Perhaps it was less trouble to maintain his sex-free life now than it was to take either of them back and try to train them out of their evil qualities, Draco thought idly.

He had to reconsider if he wanted the connection with Potter. Someone who would forget the physical necessities, as it seemed Potter did, or grimace and put up with pain because he thought he had something more important to do… Did he take risks with his life alone, or with others'? Could Draco actually trust him to _heal _Lucius, if someone else collapsed bleeding in front of him and he had to choose between obligations?

Draco folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, lifting one boot onto the table. At once Rogers, the oldest Malfoy house-elf, appeared with a bow and a clean square of linen. Draco smiled and suspended his boot, letting Rogers put the linen beneath it. Rogers vanished with another bow. He combined to perfection the indulgence of his masters and his zeal to protect the physical beauties of the Manor.

Despite his general admission that what his mother said was sense, Draco had to admit, as well, that he did not perfectly share her estimation of the qualities important in a lover. He would have to choose one eventually, of course, either to continue the Malfoy line via pregnancy if it were a woman or for his own support and comfort if it were a man. It looked stronger to one's enemies if one settled down with a particular person instead of always hopping from warm body to warm body like a flea, the way Potter had. Having children was no problem if his partner was a man; the true pure-blood families, like his, practiced the custom of blood adoption. No sharing was more important than that of blood, and the willingness to share or spill it in defense made one part of the family instantly.

But Draco also wanted qualities that his mother did not rate as valuable, or at least not valuable enough to make a fuss to secure. He wanted someone who could laugh with him and make him laugh, someone who was beautiful and randy and good in bed, someone who required a small amount of coaxing and seduction. Loyalty to the family was without question and beyond price, so Draco had had to let a few candidates he quite liked go when it became apparent that nothing could persuade them to consider the Malfoy family as the most important thing.

He did not want a relationship that merely worked. He did not want the ideal of harmony that his parents presented to the world outside their walls. He wanted—as he could whisper to himself in the privacy of his skull, as he would not have admitted even before house-elves—a changing coruscation of emotions and colors, a constant newness within the bonds of familiarity.

He looked around at the mountains and the forests, the exotic animals and the conquests, on the walls around him.

A challenge.

* * *

It happened between one moment and the next. Draco was standing in a corner of Lucius's room, watching the door with one eye and his father with the other, and not speaking, because Lucius had requested silence. From the crossed hands in his lap and the tight lines gathered around the corners of his father's mouth, Draco thought he was probably weighing the risks of remaining in hospital against the risks of removing to Malfoy Manor.

Then he screamed.

Draco whipped around, startled and horrified. A bubbling wound was pulling itself open across the middle of Lucius's chest; it was as if someone stood above his father and dragged a knife down his torso. Draco cast a curse at the air, but hit no one. He rushed towards the bed and then found himself hovering helplessly. He didn't know why Potter's spells had failed, or _which _ones had failed, and he had not the slightest idea what he needed to do to renew them.

His father was dying in front of his eyes, and he could do nothing to stop it.

In the moments before panic would have overwhelmed him and he would have run babbling from the room in search of a Healer, Potter appeared. From the crack of it, he must actually have Apparated into the room, which Draco had thought was impossible with the hospital's wards. He blinked, not caring if Potter looked towards him and saw the plea in his eyes. _Help my father, _he would have said, if he had a share of Potter's attention at that moment.

But he didn't, very properly. Instead, Potter aimed his wand as if he had always known what to do and chanted, "_Defendo hostiam cum corde meo!_"

Draco had barely begun to translate the Latin when the air broke apart. Potter was spouting light the color of fresh blood, which assumed the forms of riders on horses for a moment before it vanished into Lucius's body. Then the red light was wrapping Lucius entirely, and Potter swayed on his feet, and magic blasted past Draco like the traveling edge of a wildfire, and he knew something profound had happened, though he had not the least idea _what._

His father's cuts closed. That was the important thing. Draco sagged back against the wall, shaking, and waited to see what Lucius would say. He could use the moments to compose himself and to come to terms with the undeniable thing that had just happened, whatever the hidden significance of the spell.

_Potter saved my father's life._

A more profound life-debt was owed a wizard who saved the life of a pure-blood patriarch or matriarch. Draco knew Potter hadn't performed the spell to earn the debt, though. He had simply worked the magic because it was the right thing to do at the moment.

Draco had never thought he would be so grateful for Potter's instinctive heroism.

"What happened?" Lucius whispered. That softness of voice was an honor, though Draco doubted Potter knew enough to recognize it as such.

"Someone _took off _the spells that protected you," Potter said. He raised one hand as though he would wrap it around his own throat, but in the end lowered it to his side. Draco, his eyes alive with devouring curiosity towards Potter's every movement now, was glad that he knew enough not to hurt himself in that fashion. "The curse immediately tried to return. I'd protected your chest better, and your enemy couldn't have removed that magic without awakening you, so the curse wasn't as severe there."

"And the spell you used to defend me?" Lucius raised himself on one arm. Draco understood, though the part of him that was most his father's son wanted to rush forwards and make Lucius lie down again. Lucius had made enough concessions to his physical weakness; now it was time for strength. "I thought I caught a phrase referring to 'heart,' but that was all."

"Your education is not lacking in Latin, at least," Potter murmured mockingly. Lucius caught his lower lip between his teeth, but said nothing, and Potter shook his head as if scolding himself. Draco wanted to step forwards, wrap his arms around him, and explain how little such scolding was deserved, but he wanted to hear the answer, too. And if Potter had rejected a massage, he would fight his way out of an embrace. "_Defendo hostiam cum corde meo._ 'I defend the victim with my heart.' Known as the Heart's Blessing in some circles."

Draco froze. His heartbeat roared in his ears.

"It sounds intolerably twee," Lucius said. "What does it mean?"

"I'm sharing my life force with you," Harry said. "So long as my heart beats, you cannot die."

Lucius went very still, as well he might. Draco shut his eyes and shivered.

The sharing of life-force—and the sharing of blood, implied by the spell's name and the red color of the light that had powered it. Potter, an outsider to the family, someone who owed them no obligation, _had shared his blood with them._

Draco felt a spiral of emotions begin low in his gut, racing up towards his head. He didn't try to hurry the revelation of what they were; he had enough to cope with in that moment, as he tried to keep from collapsing.

All the world hated pure-blood families, and the Malfoys were in a more precarious position than usual, having been prominent on the losing side of the war. Draco had learned to accept in the past few years that he would probably have to hope for his grandchildren to achieve respect, and not expect it himself. Meanwhile, he drew inwards to form a defensive hedge with Lucius and Narcissa and gazed back towards the position they had lost with resentment, whilst watching the rest of the world with distrust. No one would move to help them. They could use or bribe or manipulate others with false humility, but no one would make a sacrifice that benefited them unless it was accidental.

The emotions coiled around his heart, squeezing it savagely before they continued their journey upwards.

And now Potter had performed the most sacred and powerful gesture that he possibly could have—the gesture used to seal adoptions, to seal spouses into the family after a long and careful courtship—and willingly offered his life and his blood for them. And he had done it _casually, _with no view to ultimate gain.

Draco's eyes snapped open as the emotions reached his brain and he knew them. Respect, and admiration for the qualities in Potter that had prompted him to this even if he didn't know what it meant, and overpowering desire.

Here was the partner he had hoped for, the challenge he wanted to conquer. Someone loyal and beautiful and capable of making him laugh, and someone sealed into the family. Draco ground his teeth against the impulse to knock Potter to the floor right now and seal him into the family with other liquids than blood.

Potter, of course, spoke on a different level entirely, because he would see but not understand Lucius's incredulity. "I'm young and healthy, and I stand a better chance of recognizing the medical curses that someone in hospital would probably use. They'll have to go through me to get to you from now on. I would have used this spell from the beginning, but it _is _risky and requires concentration and power I don't usually have access to. Probably only the fear that you were going to die immediately could have pushed me to get it right."

"I know what it means to share life force with someone," Lucius said at last, his voice quiet and strangled.

_And so do I_, Draco thought, as he stared with narrowed eyes at Potter, who looked uncomprehending still. _And so will you, by the time I'm done with you, Harry._

It was both personal and familial, both what Draco had wanted and what the family needed, and that was what made it perfect.

He could feel hope wreathing around his soul, as the misfortunes of the past decade reversed themselves in instants. What might they not hope for, with Harry Potter as part of their family?

What might not _he _hope for, with someone like Harry at his side, in his bed?

It would take some time to seduce Harry, of course, but if there was anyone with greater skill and a better will in the world to do it than himself, Draco could not imagine him.


	6. Significances

_Thank you again for all the reviews!_

_Chapter Six--Significances_

Harry cocked his head. Draco could see the clouds forming behind his eyes, and was not really surprised by his next words. "You won't be able to feel my thoughts or my bodily sensations, Mr. Malfoy, no matter what your friends might have told you when you were a teenager. When the connection can be cut with safety, I'll do it. We won't be bound for the rest of our lives—"

_He thinks Lucius would mind that. He thinks that sharing blood with someone else of the family is an intrusion. _Draco shook his head and stepped forwards. He wished to save Harry from saying something silly and perhaps offending his new father.

"My father means something else." Harry whirled towards him, as he had a habit of doing in the past few days. Now Draco gazed at his face as the face of someone who had done the ultimate deed to make the family safe, and felt his lips curve and his hands tingle with the desire to touch Harry's skin. Of course, moving so fast would drive the man away, so he shuffled forwards and made sure his voice was as soft as if he were speaking to a broken-winged owl. "When a wizard sacrifices part of his life force to save another, it creates a wizarding debt between them, just as saving someone from certain death does. My father's simply shocked that you would do that for someone whom you barely know and have reason to hate."

"I—it's the right thing to do." And Harry ducked his head, flushing.

Draco felt his groin tighten, and was glad that the robes he wore today were loose and flowing, a subtle Malfoy gesture of contempt for anyone he encountered; he did not need to wear robes that would let him move faster, so confident was he of his magic and ability to counter any spell they cast. Of course, Harry couldn't read that language, but Draco would teach him.

And he would teach Harry what the sight of a flushed face and sweet stammering denials did to him, when combined with the spell that had taught him to know Harry's soul.

"Most other Healers in St. Mungo's would have done the same." Harry was still talking, heedless. "And—"

"Most others would not have done the same, given what has happened to him from the moment he arrived here." Draco took another delicate step towards Harry. He blinked at him as if he hadn't noticed that Draco was moving closer until now. "And you swore that you would protect him, and you've kept that promise, up to lending him your life force so he can survive. That's not a light gift, Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes suddenly, gave him a false smile, and turned away with a rapidity that suggested disgust. The next moment, he was speaking to Lucius, his voice loud, as if he would push away any attempt Draco made to gain his attention. "Our first priority must be finding out who removed the stabilization fields," he said. "You were asleep?"

Draco rocked back on his heels. Obviously, Harry had made some swift decision about him that prejudiced him against Draco, but Draco did not know what might have caused it.

* * *

Lucius lowered his eyelids over his eyes to cover his thoughts. He felt too many emotions at the moment for it to be safe to show any, even to his son and heir.

Relief that he still lived. When he had felt the wounds begin to open, he had wondered if this was the moment when his precautions ran out at last. He had mustered all the things that he had to yet to tell Draco, such as the telepathic connection that would grow between the Malfoy head of family and his or her spouse, and gathered, too, the breath to speak them.

Wonder that Harry Potter could use such a spell, for such a reason, and yet not know what it meant. The Healers of St. Mungo's had surely discouraged common use of that incantation, but they had not told their trainees the reason. Lucius wanted to laugh at the thought that Harry had not known he would bind his fate to the Malfoy family's by such a gesture.

Anticipation of what Narcissa would make of this gesture. He had already called to her and told her that things had changed, that Harry was now part of their family, and that he needed her in hospital. It was one reason he had sagged back against the pillows and been content to let Draco speak for him at first. The blast of magic had taken much out of him. But Narcissa had conveyed acceptance without question. She would know that he had detailed explanations to offer when she arrived in St. Mungo's, and of course the news of someone joining their family was too momentous to let her be left to discover on her own.

Cool gratitude that it was Harry, and not someone else, who was tied to them. They could not trust Harry in the sense of expecting him to understand everything at once, the way that they might have been able to trust some of the pure-blood Healers if they had been the ones to perform the spell, but on the other hand, Harry's very ignorance spoke for the genuineness of the gesture. What he did not know existed, in this case the binding into the Malfoy family and the way they would extend their protection over him in turn, he could not desire.

Amusement that his son had so obviously decided what he wanted and meant to pursue it immediately. If Lucius had the slightest notion of what Harry was like--and he did, with the revelation of the Heart's Blessing Spell--then Draco would have to chase, and chase hard, to make Harry pay attention to him. Harry was likely to attribute every motive but the right one to Draco, and back away in cautious, and then stubborn, independence.

And an eagerness for the immediate future that surpassed any he had felt since the end of the war, when he had determined that his son was still alive. He _would _have more to do now. He _would _have the chance to live. And now he had two sons, both bound by blood, who would be tied together as well by Draco's determination.

Lucius's life had not been so full in years, and he had to regard the curse keeping him in bed for the moment as a temporary inconvenience, because it was so much less important than the fulfillment of the plans he saw now within his reach.

In the meantime, Harry had asked him a question, one he should answer now.

"I heard nothing. And our first priority must be making sure that you're safe, Mr. Potter. You're young and healthy, as you said, but even you could be killed by a curse or an accident." He looked at Draco. "I think Draco should take over the duty of protecting you."

Draco's face, startled into sourness by Harry's apparent rejection, brightened again. Harry's nostrils flared, and he looked as if would have shaken his head in anger if he dared speak to a patient that way.

_I am giving you a chance to seduce and bind him that way before I take my own methods in hand, _Lucius told his son mentally. _He might react better to you because of the same reason he reacts better to any open, honest gesture. Do not fuck this up._

Of course, Harry protested. "No! There has to be someone here with you at all times—"

"My wife will come," Lucius said quietly. "We did want to spare her, as she is not at her best with hospitals, but she would bear worse for me." He thought it well that Harry should know the character of his new mother as soon as possible, or he would not have taken the risk of revealing that side of Narcissa, a weakness, before she knew about the Heart's Blessing spell and how it had changed things between them. "She also knows spells, thanks to several days of study now, that should help to protect me and still be undetectable by the wards of the hospital and by your Healer friend who dislikes me so much."

"Mr. Malfoy--"

Lucius stifled a sound that would have come out as somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh. He should have known that Harry would protest, and go on protesting until he was actually ushered into the Manor and shown the place he would dwell for the rest of his life. He was too earnest, too willing to give up everything he had earned so that someone might live a little better. It was the part of his attitude that Lucius was the most anxious to correct.

Draco intervened smoothly. Lucius approved. Draco was used to working in concord with him and Narcissa; it was a good sign that he was willing to learn to work with his future partner, so that he might prevent Harry's self-destructiveness from hurting him. "It's for the best anyway, Potter." He had moved up beside Harry, who turned to eye him sideways with intense dislike. "I was awake and alert, I must have been, when that spell to remove the fields was cast, but I didn't know anything had happened until Father started screaming. Then all I could do was step back out of the way when you arrived and let you work. Mother is better at noticing small changes immediately. I'm better, I think, at keeping up with you."

_All of that is true, _Lucius thought approvingly, _without revealing much of weakness should another happen to be listening in. Yes, Draco will offer Harry what he needs to become part of the family as well as what we need._

Harry, he noted, had crossed his hands at his waist, as if he assumed that Draco would be put off by the gesture. His next words crackled with ice that wasn't effective, because it didn't disguise his true anger. "I'm afraid much of the day will be boring for you," he said. "I've got other cases in hospital to attend to, and I never spend much time having fun."

Draco laughed softly. Lucius would have been wary of the laughter, but he could see the brilliance in Draco's eyes. Yes, he was looking forwards to having the man who stood at his side, and for that, Lucius could excuse youthful high spirits. "Then I'll just have to teach you, won't I?" he said complacently.

_Yes, _Lucius thought. Draco had mentioned the way Harry had acted before this in aggrieved tones, but because he had other things to worry about and Draco had taken charge of observing the mediwizard and persuading him, Lucius had not worried about it. Now he combined what Draco had said to him with Harry's recent words, and felt concern. Pleasure was essential to a Malfoy, lest he crumble under the weight of the hatred the world threw at him.

Harry looked as if he would like to say something--doubtless, a mixture of exasperating and admirable words, in which he would esteem the exasperating words more--but Narcissa stepped through the door just then. Lucius met and held her eyes, mouthing the words "Heart's Blessing." Narcissa did not let her features alter, but she quite often preferred gestures to testify to the depth of her feelings, rather than her expression.

"I recognize the Heart's Blessing spell, Mr. Potter," she said, and turned to gather her robes in her hands and sweep him a full curtsey. Of course that made Harry's cheeks burn. Lucius hoped idly that Draco would soon give him lessons on accepting compliments gracefully. "Thank you for saving my husband's life."

"You're, ah, welcome, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said. He glanced away as Narcissa stepped up to Lucius's bedside and took his hand. No doubt he felt that the openness with which Lucius looked up at her was almost indecent.

He should not have. He was the subject of that openness. Narcissa's softly piercing eyes, her downturned lip, asked if what Lucius had implied was true. Had Harry saved his life with the Heart's Blessing spell? Had they really someone new to adopt into the family, or was he exaggerating the debt they owed to Harry?

Lucius flicked his eyes at Harry and tightened his hold on Narcissa's hand in the same moment, telling her everything she needed to know. Narcissa bent her head enough that a curve of blonde hair fell above her eyes and murmured a few soundless words. Lucius knew they would be _Sweet fate, _a blessing the Black family had once used on the circumstances of the world when they actually favored that pure-blood family.

"I spent some time last night researching linked spells, Mr. Malfoy," Harry said. His voice was still low and embarrassed, as if he imagined it impossible that he would be forgiven for being in the same room with Lucius and Narcissa when they were communing like this. "I'm afraid I still can't tell what kind of maze may exist in your mind, or your body, or how to dispel it."

"You've bought us time for you to do the research," Lucius said, and let some of the warmth he was truly feeling drop into his voice. It would do Harry good to learn that the Malfoys were not as emotionless as he imagined, though proper expression of nine-tenths of what Lucius felt now must wait for the walls of home.

"And what happened today may have given you more clues." Draco spoke softly and passionately, sidling towards Harry this time. Harry glared at him. Lucius pressed his wife's hand, and felt her press back, both of them sharing their amusement that Harry could only muster a few responses to Draco's flirtation, most of them so unsubtle, and not even notice the differences in the ways that Draco tried to gain his trust and attention.

"I--yes," Harry said. "I'll still have to do more research, of course."

It didn't take long after that for Harry and Draco to depart, Harry still striding along stiff-backed as if he imagined that Draco was like an annoying imprinted duckling whom he could leave behind. When they had gone and Lucius was sure they would not turn back--Draco would have leaned hard against the wall or made some other noise to alert them if it were happening--he leaned back on his pillow and looked up at his wife.

"And what do you really think of our new son?" he asked.

* * *

Narcissa stood with her head bowed for some moments when Lucius had spoken. She kept her hand limp and passive within his, and breathed so slowly that someone else coming through the door might have mistaken her for dead.

Of course, such protections availed little against her husband, who had shielded her shoulders for years and knew that the calmer she appeared, the more emotions whirled through her mind. But she could keep _which _emotions she was feeling from him, because the lifts of her eyebrows and the twitches of her features had never become so matched to the individual feelings as Lucius might imagine they were.

And, in truth, she was as much vexed as in joy.

She had seen the way Draco looked at Potter, and she understood the way he must be considering him. Draco would see this as a fate-granted opportunity for him to be free of some of the obligations Narcissa had counseled him to assume. He would not need to travel to other pure-blood families, endure their insults and sneers because of the position that the war had left the Malfoys in, and negotiate until he found someone he could stand and who would be willing to foreswear allegiance to his or her own family in order to accept the Malfoy name in their place. He would not need the steps of the dance Narcissa had taught him which had helped her and Lucius to get acquainted: the careful words, the equally careful display of certain emotions and the observation he kept on the other's responses, and the conscious settling of disagreements that would be buried and weaknesses that would never be referred to again. Draco would prefer this method of straightforward seduction, binding, and lovemaking, because it fit better with the way he loved to think and react, his emotions running headlong with his thoughts.

But Narcissa had long thought that enslaving his passions and learning more about the ways in which pure-bloods reasoned would help Draco. He would curb his own desires and accept that he could not simply trample over the top of the objections others raised in his way. His education in such matters had been disrupted by the war, and Narcissa had given way to the necessities of hatred, anger, and desperation, without which her family would not have survived.

And now fate had turned sweet and given Draco what he wanted, so that he need never learn the lessons he despised.

Narcissa had to admit that this seemed the best possible way fate could have turned, because Draco had always been enchanted by the Potter boy and longed to be closer to him. But she could not help feeling that some of his potential, the person he could have been with a tighter education, was dying unborn.

And there was the matter of shared blood, which she could not have denied even if Potter made Draco slobber over him.

She lifted her head and smiled at Lucius. "I think he needs teaching," she said. "In the ways of pleasure, in the ways of reason, in the ways of becoming a Malfoy."

Lucius's hand squeezed hers again, the only visible sign of his relaxation. "Draco will give him that," he said.

_And so will I, _Narcissa thought, faintly amused at Lucius's belief that Draco was the only teacher Potter needed. _Particularly in the last two, which my darling son is far from being a master of._

* * *

"Can you give me a room in your house?" Draco asked. He and Harry were heading towards the third floor now, towards one of the many other patients Harry thought himself privileged to attend.

He had decided on the level of subtlety that he would use with Harry. It was no use coming in as he would have with someone else raised in the world of pure-blood houses, low and sharp, feigning a lesser level of enchantment than he really felt, speaking double entendre. Harry wouldn't notice, and would convince himself that there was nothing real there if he did. On the other hand, deprecating Harry's treatment in hospital and urging him to remove to Malfoy Manor immediately was _too _open. Draco had to educate Harry slowly, and bring him to think that his new ideas were his own property.

"It won't be my room."

"Oh, I know that," Draco said. He moved past Harry, enacting another step in the dance. His hand brushed Harry's shoulder, a tender, tentative touch, fingers fluttering and splaying against the skin covered with cloth. "I'll leave it up to you to change your mind on that." He winked over his shoulder. "Not that I won't try to give you a little help."

He could hear the sound of Harry's teeth grinding from here. Draco sighed delicately, and fought down his own exasperation. What did Harry _think _he was doing, if not trying to bring him gently to a knowledge of what he meant to the Malfoys and accord with their method of doing things? He must have seen the way Draco and Lucius both paused after the Heart's Blessing spell. He should understand it mattered to them, even if he didn't understand exactly why.

"Listen, Malfoy," Harry said, and stepped up to him. Draco cocked his head slightly to the side, so that he could feel the pressure of Harry's warmth and breath a few inches from his side. "You don't need to—act like this. I'm not going to abandon treating your father even if you are rude to me."

Draco raised his eyebrows. Harry's conclusions were so far from the truth that he could only use an ambiguous question in response. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Harry said, and a softness touched the corners of his mouth, as if he thought he would soon convince Draco of his way of seeing things. "I would have wanted you out of the room whilst I was there, but you showed today that you can get out of the way when a trained mediwizard or Healer needs to work. You didn't try to distract me, unlike that bastard Julius." He hissed between his teeth and shook his head. Draco hoped he was remembering how poor a lover Adoranar had been, and thinking how nice it would be to have a more pleasant one. "You even protected me from his interruption, and I'm grateful for that. So I won't impose conditions on your presence from now on. You can sneer and insult me all you like. You probably need the release because of all the stress that Lucius being sick piles on you."

Draco felt a moment of startlement, and then a stronger one of compassion, sticking him through the middle of the heart like a needle. He wanted to reach out and catch one of Harry's restlessly tossing arms, binding him to hold still and _listen. _Harry thought the freedom to be rude mattered more to Draco than he did. Draco would have to cure him of that delusion soon.

"My father's not sick, he's cursed," Draco said. "You reminded me yesterday of the importance of specificity. And you're right, I am stressed. So are you, obviously." He ran his gaze up and down Harry's body. "Do you think we might be able to help each other? I _like_ being helpful."

He waited to see a spark catch in Harry's gaze. Surely he could not misunderstand that, but it would not be so open as to offend him.

Harry laughed.

Draco did his best not to writhe. The sound hit him in his body and his blood both at once, the blood shared with what flowed in Harry's veins. He could imagine the same laugh on a battlefield or in the bed, and that made it a greater treasure. Of course, that Harry made the sound at all was a proof that he wasn't seriously considering Draco's offer.

"I don't want a boyfriend at present, and I think it would be a distraction I could ill afford if I did have one." Harry cocked his head when he finished speaking the words, and smiled, as if those were the only words on the subject that mattered.

_He needs a lover. He needs someone to guard him, someone he trusts, so that he won't be minded to disobey for the sake of disobeying when they warn him that he's pushing too far and damaging his health. _Draco leaned forwards and dropped his smile. Now this was not merely about possible damage to the mediwizard tending his father; it was about standing back and possibly watching a member of his family hurt himself. "You need someone to help you. That's plain. You need someone who doesn't get on your nerves like Adoranar and who accepts and celebrates your abilities, unlike that fool Xavier." Draco lowered his eyelashes and watched Harry intently from beneath them. Would he understand the significance of those words, and the way they admitted that Draco was not looking to serve only his own needs? "You need someone who can give you what _you_ need, as well as getting what he needs from you." He took a step closer. "I can give you all that."

"I don't understand _why_." Harry's angry breath fluttered his nostrils.

Draco shrugged. "Because I want to." _Because you are more to me than you were to either Adoranar or Brandeis._

Harry laughed and turned his back.

Draco let his hands close into fists, fingers cutting into his palms. He fought the impulse to snarl. _What _did it take to earn Harry's attention and regard? Why couldn't he see that things had changed now, and that Draco's flirtation was honestly meant? What in the world did he think Draco intended, if not to win and hold him?

_I can't betray him to the Dark Lord now, and there's no House or Quidditch Cup to be won. And those were the motives he always attributed to me back in school._

"You might regret your willingness to help when you're handing me vials and asking incessant questions about healing that I won't answer," Harry said. He began to move so quickly Draco had to almost run to keep up with him. He knew he was flushing, but he didn't care. He could show such emotions in front of Harry now that he was family.

_This may be harder than I thought. __Why does he have to be so stubborn?_


	7. Settled and Dreaming

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Seven—Settled and Dreaming_

To watch Harry with his patients was at once a wonder and a source of concern to Draco.

He spoke softer words than Draco had known were in existence, and not at all like the kind of rough flirting he used with Lucius. Draco supposed that was because _these _patients had no former Death Eaters among them, but still, he would have anticipated more of a continuity of manner. That Harry could lower his voice, that he could lean in sympathetically and nod when a man with regrowing bones complained for the third time in five minutes about Skele-Gro not taking, that he could lift the fringe from the forehead of a boy who was sweating yellow, oily liquid from the poisonous combination of potions he'd swallowed, made Draco stir against the wall with restless desire. So Harry _did _have that gentleness Draco would crave towards himself from a lover. He could show it when he wanted. Draco's problem was how to make Harry want to show it to him.

But he didn't ask Draco for help, not once. He fetched the vials of potions himself. He spoke all the comforting words and never glanced over his shoulder as if he were at a loss and required a suggestion. He waded right into the fray when a thrashing patient nearly flung himself off the bed and restrained his limbs with a twitch of his wand. Then he murmured words as calm as the flow of a stream at dusk until the patient relaxed and listened to him, and he was able to remove the restraints.

Unused to depending on anyone else, content to pour the strength and the grace of his personality down an empty well until he was entirely drained…Draco had seen a disease like this before, in another student who was working towards her Potions mastery. She had primarily wanted to know how to handle Potions ingredients for the sake of her mother, who had one of the rare wizarding diseases that regularly needed new treatments. She hadn't considered once whether she _liked _Potions, or what would happen when her mother died and she no longer had that force driving her. Draco could admire her selflessness as he could admire the skill behind a painting in a style he didn't like. He couldn't think _well _of it. There was the rest of one's life to think about, and no matter what anyone might say, it wasn't selfish to manage one's own happiness.

Draco, as he watched Harry speak to a small girl named Mary who had lost her voice to poison and could only nod or shake her head in response to his questions, could see something like that happening to Harry, so _easily. _He would collapse one morning and stay in a coma the rest of his life, or he would become so numb emotionally that he would withdraw from the world, unable to Heal any more. He kept nothing for himself, no reserve of emotional strength that he didn't pour into other people, and if he let anyone support him, Draco had yet to see it.

It was wrong. He was a Malfoy now. He should have the very best of all material comforts, beauty to surround and soothe his wounds of heart and soul, conversation to guide his mind to new intellectual heights, and the necessity of only working when he wanted to. Draco was willing to concede that Harry's sense of honor might make his work more frequent than Draco would like, but he still should _choose _it, not sink into a constant haze of busyness because it was the right thing to do.

More irritating on a personal level, Harry had forgotten his presence. His entire being seemed to concentrate in Mary, and his face shone for her. Draco shifted his weight. He would not sink to making a vocal protest—not where they had an audience—but he still disliked the idea that he mattered less to Harry than this girl did.

Then he realized Harry was muttering and cooing to the girl about visiting her again that evening, even though he'd already spent almost half an hour with her, and despite the attack on Lucius this morning, and despite all the other patients he had visited. And, of course, he had to complete the all-important duty of settling Draco in his house and letting Draco seduce him.

"At seven, all right?" Harry said the last in a voice so caressing that Draco bit his lip. Damn it, he wanted to hear that voice directed at _him_. If he was careful and patient, then maybe he would.

"Can you afford the time?" he asked.

Harry glared at him. Draco didn't know what the problem was. It was an honest question.

"Yes, I most certainly can," said Harry. "And so can you, if you're so intent on trailing after me."

Draco stifled his immediate impulse to snap back that he was guarding Harry and trying to educate him, not trailing him. He was not a dog. "I'm accustomed to relaxing before the fire by then, Potter," he said. He made sure to look carefully at Harry, and choose his next words with equal care. Harry would not get away with thinking that Draco was concerned only for himself and his father. "And you look like you could do with an hour when you're not worrying about that nasty superior of yours or all the noble self-sacrifices you like to make."

"If you think you can change my routine to suit your self-indulgent notions," Harry said, too obviously clenching his teeth behind his smile, "you're wrong." He turned back to Mary and nodded as if she were a queen commanding his attendance. "I'll be here at seven," he repeated.

He turned around and marched away. Draco followed him, gaze fixed firmly on his back. He knew he would glare at the girl if he turned around again, and with his luck, Harry would turn around, see it, and decide that Draco was despicable and a dastard forever.

_Self-indulgent? Does he have any idea of how much time and kindness I'm prepared to give him, because of what he did for my father?_

Draco released a careful, soundless breath through his nose. He didn't know how he was to explain that things had changed to Harry. He had thought his behavior would be enough, but no, it obviously wasn't. He bit at the corner of his lip and half-lidded his eyes, concealing, he hoped, both his vexation and his attempts to find a way to improve the situation. Harry would not like to be looked at as if he were a problem in Arithmancy.

"Do you think Mr. Smythe honestly believes that your father raped his daughter?" Harry asked. He walked with his eyes fixed straight ahead, his tone so casual that Draco could not assimilate the words for long moments. "Or is that a cover story for something more sinister?"

Draco choked. He had to yank his thoughts back from a very different track to the one Harry was trying to lay in front of him, and he could practically feel Harry's smug enjoyment radiating from him. He must have a trace of politeness, though, or he would have turned around and gloated openly.

_I reckon I should be grateful for that delicacy. We're certainly adopting someone boisterous and crude as part of the family, but it's not as bad as embracing a Weasley would have been._

Draco tried to force away the thought that he might be _literally _embracing a Weasley soon, if Potter's friendship with them still held true, and make himself come up with an appropriate answer. "The Death Eaters wore masks, Potter." He thought of the many accusations Lucius had been faced with after the Wizengamot declared him free, accusations that the people making them probably didn't believe themselves; it was just a means to receive publicity and exercise grief. His voice tightened in spite of himself. "Nor did my father always wear his hair uncovered. Just because a masked Death Eater hurt a member of someone's family—and I'm not denying that many of them _did _hurt quite a few people—doesn't mean it was my father who committed the crime."

Harry turned around. Draco blinked, but held his gaze. He knew his face probably looked too open for his father's taste, but maybe it would do something for Harry.

And, indeed, Harry caught his breath and shifted towards him with a slight step that he probably hadn't meant to take. Draco softened his smile, but decided against extending a hand. Harry seemed to resent his attempts at seduction. "I can promise you, if you like the expression I'm wearing now, I'm more than willing to present it to you as often as you wish."

Harry stiffened and gave his head a half-toss, as if he were a horse flicking off the reins that someone had laid on his neck. Draco nearly growled under his breath. He was _trying!_ He was trying to show Harry that he could be gentle, by speaking the words that Harry wanted to hear; he was trying to show that he was patient, by standing quietly in the corner whilst Harry spent hour after hour with boring people. What more could Harry possibly want?

"There is something I'd like to see more of from you, Malfoy."

Draco felt heat gather at his groin and hope braid through his throat, together forming a halter that jerked him towards Harry. He couldn't regret the step he took. He had been waiting for this all day.

"What?" he breathed.

"Your back," Harry said, and turned his.

Draco clenched his fists for a moment, and then followed again without speaking or revealing his outrage aloud. Harry carried Lucius's health in his beating heart. It wouldn't do to allow him to get too far ahead.

But Draco was feeling less sanguine about the project to get Harry into his bed and introduce him to the comforts a Malfoy should accept than he had been three hours back. Harry was generous and noble and disinterested, but he had his faults, too. And one of them was that he didn't appear to desire things any reasonable person _should _desire.

Draco didn't know anyone who honestly disliked attention, flirtation, and the offer of companionship, though. Which meant Harry was lying to both Draco and himself.

_It's a sad day, when a former Death Eater has to teach the Savior of the Wizarding World honesty._

* * *

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the house Harry showed him to—at least, after they'd got past the illusion that concealed it in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood—was a bloody mess.

Everywhere, Draco could see the signs of long neglect: faint stains on the walls that magic had done its best to help but couldn't erase; strips that showed repaired paper or paint; fainter scorch marks and the indefinable, half-there soot that was the result of careless use of Dark magic. The entrance corridor was far too small and dusky, with lamps that Harry lit with a flick of his wand. Draco curled his lip when he saw the narrow, dark stairs leading to the upper floor, and the doorway that led to the kitchen. That doorway had once borne mold or mildew. Draco could still smell it if he sniffed.

What was Harry _thinking? _With the staircase, particularly. Given his glasses, and his lack of sight without them, it was a wonder he hadn't stumbled on it and broken his neck already. He needed a place where he could walk an entire wing without encountering stairs, and where the ones he did have to walk were broad and well-lit.

Somewhere like the Manor.

"I can't believe you live _here_," he said, because he planned to practice honesty with Harry now.

Harry gave him a glance that combined weariness, patience, and amusement. Draco snarled silently under his breath. Harry had no right to look as if it were costing him time and will simply to be around Draco. If anything, he was the one who ought to be given an Order of Merlin, Third Class, for dealing with Harry.

"My godfather left it to me," Harry said. "I'm afraid your mother didn't impress him as a trustworthy custodian."

_Make that an Order of Merlin, Second Class. _That was an unworthy conclusion for Harry to jump to. Draco cooled his voice as he said, "You think I'm angry because the Black house didn't pass into my hands? Good God, Potter. I wouldn't live here if you paid me."

Harry reached out and touched the banister as if he would topple over at that announcement, but he sounded happy rather than distressed, the way that Draco would have wished him to be. "And no one is paying you to dance attendance on me. You might as well leave now."

Draco choked on Harry's stubbornness and managed to swallow it in the end. It was time to laugh, to show that he was unaffected by words like that, so that eventually Harry would give up saying them. Even _he _wasn't stupid enough to keep using weapons that wouldn't work. "I was using the word 'live' in a more permanent sense," he said, stepping past Harry to study a prominent stain on the nearest wall. He had to shudder fastidiously at the sight of it. Hadn't there been a house-elf attached to the Black house? Why hadn't it cleaned this spot better? Of course, considering Granger's attitude towards house-elves and Harry's attachment to her, he probably hadn't driven it to rigorous enough pursuit of its duties. "Once you've come to your senses, I'm sure I can help you find a house you needn't be ashamed to have company in."

"I would be ashamed to associate with anyone you thought of as suitable company," Harry snapped, and then stepped into the kitchen. Draco poked at the stain for a moment with his wand before he followed; a whispered charm had no effect on it. If Harry was going to put away the Dark artifacts that Draco was sure had once crowded the place, he could at least have cleaned up after himself.

And then the remembrance of what Harry had done for Lucius came back, and Draco stifled a sigh. Harry was blood, no matter what. Draco could have wished for a sensibility more like his own, true, but—

And then he stepped into the kitchen and jerked to a stop. At least this time he managed to curl his tongue in his mouth instead of curling his lip; Harry was seeing far too much of his open disgust as it was.

Harry was eating a sandwich from a plate of them that had sat in the middle of the table for God knew how long. From this distance, Draco could feel that there was no Preserving Charm on them. Next to them was a cup of tea with only a mild spell to keep it warm on the porcelain. And Harry was snapping at the sandwich like a large fish devouring a small one. He should have sat down to a calm, extensive meal after the magic and time and emotional commitment he'd spent today on his patients, and still he _refused. _Draco could have kicked the wall in frustration, but, like a mature wizard, he found an outlet in words instead.

"You live a cramped life, don't you?"

Harry continued wolfing his sandwich. Draco so strongly imagined stepping towards him, gripping his wrist, and wrenching the food away from him until he could eat properly that he was mildly surprised to find he hadn't actually done it. "As before," Harry said, obviously uninterested in his opinion, "you're welcome to leave and go back to St. Mungo's if you like. Or Malfoy Manor."

_And you really think I would go away without my new brother? _Draco bit back the words, though. It was only too likely that Harry would decide to be relentlessly literal once more and point out that he and Draco hadn't shared a womb. "You have no idea what a sacrifice of life force means, either."

Harry turned around and stared at him then. Draco felt a faint tremble of hope. Maybe the love of direct explanations Harry seemed to entertain would work for him after all. Harry had curiosity and doubt warring together behind his eyes, because he had never learned to hide his emotions; Draco could work with either. "I know life debts can endure between wizards who neither trust nor like each other," Harry said. "I can't believe that you would insist on its importance the way you're doing."

_He thinks to compare this to a life debt? _Draco licked his lips to get rid of the taste of frustration, and decided that it was probably the best comparison that would occur to Harry, uneducated little wanker that he was.

_There's no reason I can't dislike a member of the family sometimes, _he addressed the ghost of Narcissa breathing reproach in his mind. _Particularly when he's so exasperating._

"It's more than important," Draco said. "It's almost—it means—"

And all his fine intentions broke apart like light bouncing off shattered glass, because there was no room for the words he wanted to speak in Harry's world. No ability to bridge the gap between them, as long as he lived in a house like _this _and didn't have the sense of brooding danger that constrained Draco's movements and emotions every time he was beyond the walls of his home. How was he to explain their constant danger to someone who had always had the world at his beck and call? Why should Harry want to trade his friendly perceptions _for _one of constant danger, anyway?

He made a small frustrated noise in his throat, shaking his head. "I don't have the words to explain it. This would be _so _much easier if you were a pure-blood," he finished. He knew he sounded as if he was nagging, but he didn't care. Perhaps Harry would take the hint and begin to do research in the books that surely must occupy the Black family library here.

"I've made your life hard from the day I appeared in it," Harry said. "Why ruin a fine tradition?" He packed the second sandwich into his mouth and ate it so hard that crumbs of bread and meat and cheese flew out of the corners of his lips. Draco winced. Harry, of course, not content with that performance, gathered up a third and strolled away towards the stairs.

Draco followed. He had no fear that Harry would get lost in his own house, but there was always the possibility of a fall from the stairs, and Draco actually hoped for one. That would let him get his hands on Harry's body.

And there were no _wards _on this house, or nothing worth noticing. It made Draco so uneasy he tasted constant bile in the back of his throat when he swallowed.

"You'll have a bedroom near mine, the better to hear me if I scream for help. I hope you won't be too bored." Harry spoke without looking over his shoulder, and with his mouth full of sandwich.

_Fuck honesty. Let's return to the flirting, and see if that has any effect._

"Listening to you scream for me could _never _be boring." Draco deliberately made his voice low and breathy.

Harry continued climbing without looking around. "You shouldn't lack for comforts here," he went on. Draco scowled. Perhaps some of his concern about Harry's comfort had sunk in after all, but of course Harry couldn't apply those thoughts to _himself. _"Kreacher's kept up all the bedrooms, and there's a great deal more furniture in storage. He can prepare any food you like—"

"I wouldn't have known, from that plate of sandwiches in the kitchen." _Or the way you eat them._

"That's simply what I like to eat." Harry turned around on the top step, shrugged, and then evinced a faint blush. Draco nearly blinked, then realized that he stood at a height that put his eyes at the level of Harry's arse. If Harry thought he had done that on purpose, who was Draco to disabuse him of the notion? "You needn't feel bound by my tastes."

Draco couldn't help himself. One thing Harry had a talent for, besides exasperating people and mediwizardry, was straight lines. "If your taste runs to bondage—"

"You're quite certain your mastery isn't in innuendo?" Harry had a bite of ice in his voice now, and he gestured Draco towards three of the shut doors with all the regality of a king dismissing the knight who had fucked around with his wife. "All those rooms are fitted as bedrooms. Choose which one you like."

Draco wanted to stamp his foot. It wasn't _fair, _that none of his strategies were working. He would simply have to change tactics again. Perhaps Harry would like some information about his life, and he had already brought up Draco's mastery, which would give him an opening.

"I decided to take a mastery in potions partially in remembrance of Professor Snape," Draco said, and opened the first door. He knew at once he wouldn't take it—he simply couldn't deal with that large an unwarded window—but he kept talking so that Harry wouldn't think Draco was rejecting his hospitality too quickly. "But soon enough I realized a passion for the art that I hadn't had in years. It reminded me of simpler times, before I had to make decisions that could have meant life and death for my entire family." He let himself shudder as the memory rose. The sixteen-year-old he had tried desperately to kill still lived in his dreams. "I recaptured some of that whilst I worked on the earlier stages of my mastery. It was as if I were growing through a childhood and adolescence I'd missed into a stronger person. Now that I'm working on the more stringent potions, I can finally feel like an adult."

There was a shuffle behind him, as though Harry had been about to step forwards and thought better of it. Draco disliked how much the small stab of hope pricking his belly meant to him. At least that was a better reaction than he'd received so far. He shut the door of the first room and opened the second.

The wards glowed more thickly here, to the point where Draco could sense the tingle of the magic along his nerves instead of squinting and prying after it, and the walls were thicker. His shoulders relaxed, and he decided to let Harry see that, too. "I'll take this one." Perhaps he should mix in some flirtation again. He let his eyes dart quickly over Harry. "Unless you meant the offer of sharing your bed with me, of course," he added.

"There is nothing I want to do less right now," Harry said.

But Draco had seen the leap and flicker of interest in his eyes, like flames rising from banked embers. It made him remember the way Harry had looked when he cast the Heart's Blessing spell, and he longed to lean forwards and wrap his fingers around Harry's chin and jaw. _He's lying. He's interested._

"Except possibly explaining your presence in my house to my friends," Harry had to say then, and douse Draco's lust with images of Weasley and Granger.

A sharp hiss cut through the silence between them. Draco nearly drew his wand until he noticed the faint emotion on Harry's face: irritation, not surprise. He sighed. "Stay here for a few minutes," he said. "Come when I call you."

Draco bowed. He had not the least intention of obeying; if he were to understand Harry, he needed to watch him when he was in company with people he would have more natural reactions to. "A skill I haven't yet had the pleasure to learn, but would be more than happy to master for you," he said.

Harry whirled away too suddenly for the gesture to be casual. Draco smiled—and he didn't think it was a desperate and strained smile, and, even if it was, no one was looking at him—and cast a silencing charm on his boots, then waited a count of one hundred before he carefully followed.

It was the first time this afternoon he'd been able to analyze his emotions for a moment instead of simply feeling them. He was stunned to realize that he was quite enjoying himself, for all the frustration that Harry provided.

It had been years since anyone but his mother or father had provoked reactions this strong, and the surprises Harry handed him were infinitely more pleasurable than the panic of his father's illness.

_I was right. I needed a challenge. And I'll have him yet. No one can ignore the ties of blood forever. _


	8. Stubbornness Is Not a Virtue

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Eight—Stubbornness Is Not a Virtue_

"But, mate, _Malfoy._"

Draco bit his lip on the impulse to charge into the room and confront Weasley over the incredulous tone of his voice. He wasn't supposed to be here, after all, and he doubted that yelling at Harry's friends would grant him any progress in climbing into Harry's bed.

_Will anything?_

Draco shook his head to rid himself of thoughts like this—of course he would despair if he got too impatient—and focused his mind on the conversation again. Harry was speaking with a warmth behind his voice that Draco wanted to bask in. Now, if Harry would direct that tone at him someday, matters would fall out perfectly, but in the meantime, at least he knew what it sounded like for his daydreams and wanking fantasies.

"I know. But I do think he's changed since school."

Silence, whilst Weasley struggled with the concept of people changing. Draco rolled his eyes. He was beginning to wonder how Weasley and Harry had survived the war, what with the total lack of intelligence on one side and common sense on the other. Of course, Granger had been with them. Perhaps she made up for Harry's deficiencies as much as her husband's.

"I still don't think I've understood," Weasley said. The overly plaintive tone in his voice made Draco cock his head thoughtfully. "Maybe if you use smaller words, mate?"

Harry gave a soft chuckle before he responded. "I don't really understand it myself," he murmured. "No one else ever offered me a bodyguard because I'd done the only right thing I _could _do. Granted, the situation with Lucius is extraordinary, but—"

_Well, there's one obstacle right there. If he persists in thinking of Lucius as only another patient, then he won't understand any explanation I could offer him._

"Now you sound like Hermione." There was a soft thunking noise, probably Weasley's fingers impacting on his hollow skull. "I've spent most of my day being deafened by the newest Fwooper Charm George designed. Then what was left of my brain dribbled out my ears when I visited Percy and had to listen to him crooning baby talk to Lucy. Small words, remember."

Draco was certain, now. The lack of intelligence Weasley showed was a _game_, as though he believed he was best off pretending to be stupider than he really was. Perhaps he found an amusement in that behavior because the game didn't take much effort for him, Draco thought.

But the thought made uneasiness swell up in him like a breeding salamander. Yes, people could change since Hogwarts, and Harry and his friends were among them. Draco could not be certain that his perceptions were telling him the obvious truth the first time. He would have to listen and observe, if he wanted to come to sophisticated conclusions like the ones about Weasley's game.

"Lucius is an unusual patient."

_At least he recognizes that much. _Draco shifted to make his position of leaning against the wall more comfortable. He wished he could lean around the wall to catch a glimpse of Harry's expressions—Lucius had taught him long ago that the best observation was not done through one sense alone—but he didn't know how the room was laid out, and so where the fireplace might be, and so he didn't know whether Weasley could catch a glimpse of him.

"You got _that _right."

Draco blinked. Perhaps he could manage to feel a bit of compassion for the Weasel after all, if he got into the habit of agreeing with Draco.

"And it seems that he wants me alive so I can heal him." Harry sounded half-amused, whilst Draco fought the impulse to drum his head against the wall. "What Malfoy's interest in the matter is, I'm not exactly certain."

Draco raked a hand through his hair. _Why in the world can't he see my motives? I've explained them to him with flirting. I've hinted that they're related to the Heart's Blessing spell. And he knows my interest in keeping my father alive, and that I think he's the best mediwizard to do it. What does he need? An official edict from the Ministry, signed by that vulture-eyed superior of his whom he defers so strongly to?_

"But he's serving as honor guard until we can find out who tried to kill Lucius by removing the stabilization fields, and it's not impossible that that same person might try to remove me as well."

Draco bit the corner of his cheek, eyes firmly closed, until he felt the soothing blood pouring into his mouth. Of course Harry sounded utterly unconcerned that he might be the target of an assassination attempt.

"To think I thought being a mediwizard was a peaceful career." Weasley had a proud tone to his voice, probably imagining that he was delivering a great piece of wit.

Harry laughed. Draco felt himself rise to his toes with involuntary reaction, but a new piece of information had come to him then, almost as pleasant and distracting as the laughter. _So Weasley doesn't really understand the self-neglect and the worsened temper that Harry suffers as a result of his job. No surprise there. I think he would hide such things from his friends as often as possible, and perhaps I can't blame them for not being solicitous enough of him._

Then Granger's voice spoke, and Draco felt a frisson of unexpected pleasure; she sounded more mature and intelligent than Weasley, which relieved Draco from listening to the ramblings of stupidity, but she also spoke on the subject that he had hoped someone else would talk to Harry about. "You have Malfoy living in the same house with you? Sharing your meals, sleeping across the corridor?"

_Yes, Harry, think about that, _Draco thought complacently. _Not only that I'm so close I can slip into your bed without much forewarning, but also that I'm willing to give up my own privacy and comfort in order to attend you in this desolate place. That suggests no small level of devotion, doesn't it?_

"Er, yes?" Harry sounded both amused and bemused. Draco tapped his fingers in a steady cadence against his knee to relieve his feelings; tapping them against the wall would reveal him as surely as sounding a cymbal or a drum in the corridor.

"And he wants you healthy so you can heal his father?"

There was unmistakable interest in Granger's voice. Draco straightened. _I should have known that she would try to protect Harry's health. She isn't held back by the blindness that Weasley labors under or the odd indifference to it that Harry covets. But of course Harry ignores her advice when he can._

"That's right," Harry said, hastily. "But he's not in charge of _maintaining _that health."

Irritation exploded through Draco, and he stepped out into the doorway of the room before he could think better of it. Damn it, Harry was turning aside all the good services that his friends tried to offer him, and he would do the same thing with the services that _Draco _could offer him, given half a chance. Draco had a natural ally in Granger, and he didn't intend to let the chance pass him by.

The room he stepped into was a nicely-appointed one, with carvings above the mantle and along the grate that he knew must be original to the house. A window with too few wards hovered threateningly in a corner, but Draco ignored it for the moment, knowing that showing too great a fear in front of Granger and Weasley would only get him teased and mocked. He could see Granger's head hovering among the green flames of the fireplace, and Harry straightening to face him as if Draco were the enemy.

_If he includes the enemies of his own stupidity among that number, then I am._

"I beg to differ, Potter," he said, and Harry gave him an outraged little glance that reminded Draco of a kitten trying to stand up to an enormous hound. Draco snorted loftily into the air and ignored it. "Once again, we use widely varying definitions. I did think you looked too peaky when I saw you come into my father's room this morning." _And your constant labors on the behalf of other people since then, whilst sparing nothing for yourself, haven't helped._

Granger bristled like a cat who recognized the enormous dog as an intruder on her territory and could legitimately tear it to pieces. Draco nearly smiled. There was more than one reason he wanted her for an ally.

"I made sure he rested nine hours last night," she said.

Ally or not, Draco was not going to allow her to defend her inadequate guardianship of Harry, lest Harry start thinking that he could get away with being unhealthy on Draco's watch. "Well, quite obviously that wasn't enough, Granger."

"And you think you can get him to sleep longer than that? When he'll be worried about having you in his house?" Granger rested her chin on her fists like someone making a business deal across one of those great tables Draco had never been comfortable sitting at. "Good luck with _that._"

Draco choked back a protest about how he would never hurt Harry, and Harry ought to be afraid only of his own susceptibility to Draco's seduction. If he couldn't expect Harry to understand his position as a member of a pure-blood family, how much more education could he ask of Granger, who was a Mudblood?

"Am I the only one in the room who realizes how bizarre this conversation sounds?" Harry asked the wall.

Draco felt his lips open automatically to give an answer about how, when Harry acknowledged that his disdain for his own health was a problem, he could be involved in the conversation, but then he shook his head and extinguished the impulse. No, he was talking to Granger right now. She was watching him with keen, cutting eyes, and he wanted to impress her. It would be no bad thing, if he could start ingratiating himself with Harry's friends right now. And besides, it was a relief to find some affable qualities in at least _one _of them; it would make up for what he might have to endure later on.

"I'm here to help him, not trouble him," Draco said. "Let a few days pass and he'll be so used to me that he might want me around all the time." He folded his arms and tilted his chin up, but he was watching Harry from the corner of his eye, waiting to see how he reacted to this. Harry looked ungratifyingly astonished at the idea. Draco growled under his breath. How much did he have to extend himself before Harry would make some return? Couldn't Harry see that he was _trying?_

Granger laughed, and thank Merlin, his new addiction was only to Harry's laughter; _hers _did nothing to his insides. "But I'll bet not even _you_ could make him eat a regular meal. He doesn't, you know, most of the time. It's 'gulp a headache potion and continue working until I wonder why I'm fainting,' with him."

Draco exhaled hard, appalled. Losing sleep was one thing; it could be made up on nights when Harry managed to escape early. Besides, from what Draco had seen here, Harry didn't have a bed that would encourage him to spend extra time in it. But a lack of taste for good food was worse. How was Draco to repair that?

By some method _other _than spiriting Harry away to Malfoy Manor right this instant, which he had to acknowledge wasn't practical.

But neither was it practical to attempt to suppress his own irritation any longer. He spun around to face Harry. "I'm not sure I appreciate my father's care being in the hands of a mediwizard who can't even take care of himself." That ought to get to Harry. He was sensitive about any reflection that touched on his skill.

Harry stiffened and lifted his head the way Draco had done when he stepped into the room, so charming and defiant that Draco had to forego the temptation to jump on him right now. "My patients are important."

"And you're not?" Draco clucked his tongue, and had the pleasure of seeing Harry look furious. "Well, much is now explained. Your horrendous taste in furnishings, for example. Of course you can't choose the right ones if you never take the time to pay attention to them."

He was glad he could speak lightly to conceal his own anger and concern. There was putting others first, and then there was putting them _only_.

"I'm important, too!" Harry snapped, and then whirled around to glare at Granger, apparently having decided that she was the greater villain here. "You needn't think you've won the bet forever. Or lost it."

Draco blinked. _What bet? Did they make a sort of bet about their health together? _Well, that would be another reason why Harry was accustomed to treating himself like shite, if he thought he could wager on it.

"I mean," Harry added then, "you know that Malfoy won't be a permanent house-guest, and you would hate it if he was."

_Of course we won't be staying here forever. _Draco shuddered at the thought. _We'll move to the Manor soon enough._

"As long as he's here," Granger said, and she sounded happy about it, "he might as well do you good." Draco still got a scowl for all that. "If I hear that you've hurt him, you'd better be on the other side of England from me."

Draco let a smile widen across his face, one that he knew stood a decent chance of charming Granger. "You don't need to worry about that," he said. "Hurting him would be counterproductive to my plans in more than one way." He gave Harry a speculative glance. "Unless, of course, he likes that."

Harry's mouth fell open, and he blinked a little. Draco felt a small flame of triumph flare to life in his chest. It was time that he had a chance at frustrating and surprising Harry in the same way that Harry did to him.

Then, of course, the Weasel appeared in the flames again, because no enjoyment that Draco felt in Potter's inferior house could go unalloyed. "You know what, mate?" he said to Harry. "I'm going to close the Floo connection now, and we're going to pretend that this conversation never happened. All right?"

Draco tried to say something about the Weasel being unable to stand even the hint of real sexual pleasure, but Harry was speaking before he could get the words out. "Ron, it's really not what you think—"

"I'm sure something can happen that's worse than what I think," Weasel said. "I'm trying not to think about it at all. Just tell me when the ferret's gone."

_Well, _Draco thought, as Weasley closed the Floo connection, _that removes any guilt I felt for thinking of him as a weasel._

"Your friends are more amusing than I remember them being from school," Draco said. He managed to sound reflective and not mocking, and was proud of himself for making the effort. Surely Harry ought to appreciate this as one of the most meaningful sacrifices Draco could make. "But that doesn't mean you get all the food or rest you need. You _need _a full-time watcher."

"Fuck you, I don't!" Harry snapped, and turned around to face him. Draco blinked, unsure whether the suddenness of the movement or the vulgarity had surprised him more. "You don't _need _to be here. You don't need to be afraid that I'll suddenly lose interest in Lucius, or turn against him the way the Healers have, or expose him to danger just because I'm tired. You don't need to have _anything _to do with me. I—"

Draco was opening his mouth to explain, once again and patiently, that he was worried about Harry for more reasons than that, when he saw a brown-yellow spell tearing through the weak wards on the window, aimed straight for Harry's back.

He moved before he knew what he was doing, seizing Harry and bearing him to the ground. Harry, of course, struggled, because God knew he couldn't let anything be simple, even the saving of his own life. But the cessation of that struggle was a mixed blessing, because Harry promptly looked on the verge of fainting with pain.

Draco rolled him over, aware that he was grunting under his breath with desperation and fighting his own fear, which might have frozen his hands. The spell had hit Harry squarely in the middle of his back, tearing apart the cloth of his shirt and his flesh with equal ease. Draco could barely look at the ridges of scarred skin and muscle confronting him, or listen to the soft sizzling noise that the spell made as it dug deeper and deeper.

Luckily, he carried a potion that was effective against burns and wounds that resembled them as long as it was applied in the first few minutes. He dug it out without needing to look—the vials all felt different to him in shape or the texture of the glass—and wrenched the cork from it. He tipped the mint-green Firebane potion over the wound and heard the sizzling stop, replaced by the quietly popping bubbles that showed it was working. The next moment, some of the harsh ridges smoothed and softened. Draco sat back and put a hand over his eyes.

He was weak with terror, and Harry was already lifting his head and turning it around, though slowly enough to reassure Draco the impact of the blow had been felt.

"Thank you," Harry mumbled, and then shifted as if he thought he would be standing soon. Draco conquered the impulse to laugh; it would only become despairing laughter, and refuse to stop. "That's the debt your father owed me canceled, isn't it? You saved my life." His words were dull, slow, fumbling.

"I did," Draco said, anger lending his hands strength as he pushed Harry into the floor again, "and the debt isn't canceled because it's not that kind of debt, and you're going to _rest._"

"I have to sit with Mary."

Draco clenched his teeth so he wouldn't scream. "I'll make your excuses to the charming young lady."

"I was on the verge of figuring out the maze of spells on your father," Harry said.

Draco decided he'd had enough of this nonsense. Harry would have to put up with being taken care of whether he liked it or not. He scooped Harry up in his arms and turned towards the door from the study, telling him, because Harry would probably explode if he didn't, "It can wait."

"Can't."

"You're as stubborn as a child when you want to be." Draco laid a hand over the green eyes staring up at him, unable to believe that such a gesture should be necessary. "Go to sleep."

Harry hung his head and started snoring a moment later.

* * *

It didn't take long to settle Harry into bed in the bedroom Draco had chosen for himself, or to strengthen the wards until they were glittering with almost angry sparks. Draco would have strengthened them still further, but the windows bent and the walls groaned when he tried. He sat down in a chair next to the bed and watched Harry sleep for a moment.

Then he put his hands over his face and took a deep, sighing breath, grateful there was no one awake enough to scold him for it at the moment.

To be attacked in his home was his worst fear, the worst fear of any pure-blood. The home was the fortress, the one place where a family would have so many wards and traps and tricks and secret doors and defensible rooms that no enemy could destroy them even if he took them by surprise. And this spell had come through Harry's weak wards and shattered his window. Draco had seen the hole gaping in the glass before he carried Harry away.

His hands would not stop shaking.

_Oh, Harry, God. To have found you and then to lose you so soon. To be in the place that should keep you safer than any other, and then to see you threatened there._

Draco's throat was thick with bile, and he had to choke several times before he could swallow it all. He leaned over Harry's bed, staring at his still face, his shut eyes, his gently rising and falling chest. He knew he should probably feel some smugness that he had such a perfect excuse to stay in the house—of course Harry would need attendance of some kind whilst he recovered—but it was an entirely intellectual appreciation of the way circumstances had worked out. How could he rejoice in the way Harry had been confined to bed?

Harry opened his eyes and sat up.

He did it so quickly that Draco had no time to move out of the way, and the top of Harry's head slammed into his jaw. He staggered back, his hands clasped over his mouth, swearing. The pain echoed up and into his ears and bones so that no other course was possible.

And then Harry started to get out of bed.

Mentally snarling, Draco prepared himself for battle.


	9. Break the Dam

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Nine—Break the Dam_

So far, Draco didn't think Harry deserved the serious consideration that Draco would put into trying to persuade someone who had listened to him in the past and was set on doing a single stupid thing. Harry did stupid things all the time. Draco would treat him like a child for right now, the way he was begging to be treated, and see what response that provoked.

"Oh, Potter, you can't get up yet, of course not. First, I think your friends would murder me." He simpered and gave a sickly sweet smile, secretly enjoying the way Harry stared at him. "And second, we need to find out what that curse is and who cast it. I won't allow you to risk your health whilst you're still treating my father—"

"I know exactly what that curse was and who cast it," Harry said. Then he looked at his watch, as if the time were more important than Draco. Of course, he thought _everything _in his life, probably including dust, was more important than Draco, so Draco didn't know why he was surprised. "You must not have associated with many mediwizards before, if you're used to people who are unable to recognize spells when they feel them."

Draco felt his jaw pop open slightly before he could stop himself. Downplaying the curse, yes, he'd expected that, but—was Harry _aware _of what his back looked like? Any curse that could do that deserved to be followed by a day or so of bed rest, but Harry didn't deign to name it, though he claimed to know its identity.

Which meant he _didn't _know what it was, or at least that was the most logical conclusion Draco could reach. And that was all the more reason to confine him to bed, until he could teach Draco a few simple diagnostic spells and Draco could cast them.

"And you're doing such a marvelous job with the curses cast on my father." He spoke the words with cutting deliberation, eyes fastened to Harry's face. Let him lose his temper. It would be the easiest reaction to deal with right now.

Harry tried to look haughty in the way that Aunt Bellatrix had once tended to do when speaking of Andromeda Tonks. It made him look like a constipated goldfish. "Are you _really _still questioning my competence? Then you should be fighting to get another Healer assigned to the case."

Draco clasped his fingers around his forehead and rubbed gently, in a lesser version of the massage he would have given Harry for his headache the other day, if the suspicious bastard had let him. Merlin, he hoped none of the Malfoys' enemies ever got hold of Harry. They'd learn the fine art of confounding Draco's family from him, and they wouldn't be safe even behind the strongest wards.

But in the meantime, it was obvious that insults wouldn't work, and neither would the sickly sweet falsehoods he had counted on provoking Harry into an obviously childish rage, which would give Draco a good excuse to tie him to the bed. So. _Try partial honesty, then. At the very least, it can't hurt, and he might take pity on me if he sees how bewildered he makes me._

"That was unfair of me." Draco made sure to speak quietly, and to look at Harry with at least half as much earnestness as he really felt. "I keep forgetting—sometimes I think you're the boy I knew at school, because you don't _look_ that different. But if I can change in the years since then, surely you can. You have." _Yes. You madden me even more effectively, now._ "I—" He smiled and cupped air in his hand, because Harry would probably take those gestures as charming admissions of his weakness. "I don't usually lack eloquence like this," he said. "I think it's because I know I'm strongly attracted to you, but you're not someone I can flirt with the way I usually would. You want different things. I'm still getting used to providing them."

_For example, it would be nice if I knew how you wanted to be treated. You deserve kindness, sympathy, and care as someone who would risk your life and your blood for the Malfoy family, but you don't seem to care about that at all, and in fact, you charge forwards into danger and pain as though you were paying for some unknown sin. What do you _want, _Harry? That's different from what you need, obviously, but I'm unsure how far I should ignore your wants in order to give you what you need to survive._

He didn't say those words, of course. They were a bit too bloody betraying.

"The important thing," Harry said, as though he had tried many times to get the point across and Draco was simply not listening, "is that I know that curse. I've seen patients come into the Spell Damage ward suffering from it. It's called the Beetle's Bite, apparently because there's some magical beetle in Germany or the like that spits acid—"

"_Acid_?" Draco didn't try to prevent himself; he reacted as he would if Lucius or Narcissa were hit with acid, and he had the right, when Harry was part of his family. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and spun him, shuddering harder than ever as he looked at the wound in the middle of his back, and considered how much worse it could have been.

Harry's voice dragged with weariness and strained patience. Draco wanted to hit him, or maybe snog him. Anything to lay him flat on the bed and keep him there for a bit.

"Not actual acid," Harry said. "The shock and the burning sensation combined feel like a bite from the beetle, that's all. You took care of it with your cooling potion. Thank you." He hunched away from Draco's hand. Draco twitched with the temptation to close the distance, but he had to wonder if it would make him look weak. "And as for who cast it, it was either Xavier or someone who had Xavier's help. The house is warded, but Xavier is still keyed into the wards."

Draco's head spun, his vision turned white, and he thought for a moment that he would find out it was possible to expire of exasperation. Then the moment passed, but it was imperative to catch Harry's eye and tell him of his stupidity.

"Pay close attention, Potter," he said. _As I attempt to explain to you something every pure-blood child above the age of three understands_. "There are points where courage becomes stupidity. This is one of them. Keep it in the back of your head for all future references, and perhaps you won't have to actually _experience _one of them again."

"It was easier to let him have access to the house to take his things back than to deal with his whinging when I kept him out," Harry said. Draco tried to say something about how Harry should never have had to deal with Xavier's whinging in the first place, but Harry spoke with his head bowed, staring thoughtfully at his hands, and didn't notice Draco's mouth opening. "Besides, I have a house-elf. Kreacher keeps him from stealing anything, setting traps, or poisoning the food. I never thought about his attacking from the outside, through the wards, because I never thought he'd actually want to harm me physically." He gave Draco a wink that he obviously thought was lascivious, and proved how few competent teachers he'd had in the art of things lascivious. Doubtless he'd never experienced Harvey's Never-Ending Orgasm Spell, either. "He rather _likes _me physically. On the other hand, that didn't prevent him from leaving me."

_Well, yes, that's because he was an idiot, Potter. And you're another for dating him._

But Harry seemed disinclined to listen to talk about sex right now, so Draco pursued a different tactic. If it got Harry to feel guilty, then Draco might be able to use that to manipulate him into taking care of himself. "And is this Xavier likely to prove a threat to my father? My first thought was that someone had tried to kill you to harm him."

"The Beetle's Bite doesn't kill, though it can render those who are more sensitive to it in enough pain to go to St. Mungo's," Harry said. He sounded as if he were reciting. _He doesn't apply those words to himself, _Draco thought, and uncomfortable pity resonated through him. _He doesn't really think about himself as suffering that kind of wound, only his patients in the abstract. _"Xavieris unlikely to prove a threat, no. He just wanted me to know that he was annoyed with me."

"He _hurt _you." And now Draco was uncomfortable because he was partially in sympathy with Brandeis. Of course, the member of a family had the right to inflict pain on another member of the family if it were necessary, because they would also take over the care and healing of the wounded one.

"And so what? I'm used to pain—"

Draco recoiled. _No Malfoy ever gets used to pain. Pain is always an insult, a slap from the world, an inappropriate reminder of the power of events and people that lie outside our walls. That Harry should have become used to it is only a sign of how twisted he is by relying only on himself, and those friends of his, who are too easily fooled by his lies and his protests that he's feeling better._

"—and there was no lasting damage. If anything, I owe it to him, as a reminder to tighten my wards and stop allowing him access to my home." Harry held up a hand, though Draco was not aware he had done anything more than step forwards. "Before you can ask, that doesn't mean I like pain. I tend to squirm and kick when someone tries to bind me, and you wouldn't want a bruise disfiguring that pretty jaw of yours, would you?"

And with that, he hopped out of bed and hurried into the library where he had been attacked. Draco snatched at him as he went by, but didn't succeed in catching him. He ran after him instead, mind filled with the taunting words that his father's enemies would surely speak if they could see him now. _A tagalong to a Potter, _they would say. _Surely that's the role he's wanted to play for years, if the tales that came out of their school years were true._

But Draco would, in fact, have rather played the role Harry had just accused him of enjoying—though he would have bound Harry to keep him safe from himself, and not in some debased sex-play. Draco preferred willing compliance with his desire in every aspect, and could you be sure of the movements in the mind of a lover who was bound? Perhaps he would decide that he wasn't interested anymore, but thanks to the ropes, he might as well stay where he was and _pretend _to want the fucking. That wasn't good enough for Draco. He would have someone who relished every nuance of the game, including ropes if they appeared, or he would have no one.

And perhaps that was why Harry attracted him so relentlessly, he admitted to himself. He might have glanced at him even if he hadn't been Lucius's mediwizard, as long as they crossed paths again. Winning submission from ordinary lovers was a game that Draco had become almost too skilled at. He needed someone who would bow his head, the unconquerable who would accept the conquest.

_And that's why I can't let him sacrifice himself mindlessly, the way he'd like to do, _Draco told himself as he finally caught Harry's arm again and let his fingers brush the smooth skin clothing the muscles for just a moment. _This is the only chance I'll ever have, the only person who challenges me so much and will ever become a part of my family, the only one who's made me think so many different things and feel so much at once in years. He's perfect because he's mine, and he's mine because he's perfect._

"Potter, you should be resting," he said, and made his voice all that was gentle and soothing. Harry should have tipped his head back and relaxed in it the way a cat would relax in a stream of sunshine.

"A hint," said Harry, and tried to elbow him in the solar plexus, the _berk._ Draco moved in time to avoid that, but the elbow still hit him in the ribs, which hurt far more than it should have. Harry kept them specially sharp, he thought, half in incredulity, as he wrapped his arm around the injury. "In general, I'm not fond of lovers who sound like my mum."

_He's still stuck on the sexual relationship, isn't he? He doesn't even see what more we could be to each other. Perhaps that isn't surprising, as disappointing as his experiences so far have been, but I do wish he would put as much effort into contemplating me as I do into contemplating him._

Harry had already approached the hole in the wards, and repaired it with the _Defenso _spell. Draco closed his eyes in resignation. Of course Potter would not have gone further in trying to find out ways to protect his home, when he had confessed that that protection mattered so little to him, but it only added to the list of things that Draco had to teach him. The Dark defensive wards that the Malfoys had specialized in from the time that one of their married sons betrayed his sister to his wife's family were essential.

Meanwhile, Draco was consumed with the impulse to make Harry _stop and slow down, _so that for a bit they could simply _talk _together, and so that Harry would avoid aggravating his wound any further than he had already done. He spread his arms across the doorway, bracing himself so as to withstand the charge that Harry would undoubtedly make when he saw him.

But he turned around and smiled under a raised eyebrow that made Draco wonder absently how Brandeis and Adoranar had managed to avoid snogging Harry the instant they saw him.

"Did you know the adult human male arm is not actually strong enough to resist the determined charge of another adult human male?" Harry asked conversationally. "Xavier found that out the hard way. He really should have taken a course in mediwizardry before he started dating me. It would have prevented a number of unpleasant surprises from affecting him the way they did."

Draco shook away the thought of Harry and Xavier rolling on the floor together, because the mere _thought _of Harry thrusting against someone else was not a pleasant one, and he was tormented by quite enough unpleasant thoughts already. "You were just _wounded_, Potter," he said, and spoke slowly, enunciating the words, so that Harry could think about the sharp edges of them if he wouldn't think about the actual words themselves. "Pardon me for being more concerned about that, and for thinking you should be flat on your back—"

"Not with that curse," Harry chirped.

Draco cursed himself for forgetting that. Of course Harry would pick up on something like that and carry on about it at ridiculous length. Besides, his own slip gave him the distracting thought of what Harry would look like resting on his stomach instead, glancing over his shoulder with lowered eyelids—

"It was just an expression," he said.

"But we've had the discussion before, about how important it is to be specific." Harry cocked his head, and Draco could hear the sharp cluck of his tongue. "You don't know about specific wording, you don't know about the specific strength of arms, and you can't find the words to tell me exactly why a spell that shares life force between two people is so important. I'm afraid that you must excel rather more at the practical part of your potions mastery than the theoretical one."

Draco's arms folded before he could stop himself, which meant Harry slipped and wriggled past him, pressing his hip most distractingly and shamefully against Draco's. _He should know that it's hard to explain the importance of the Heart's Blessing spell, _Draco thought, as he followed Harry downstairs and into yet another library. _Otherwise, my father would have done so at the moment he used it. _

And how was he to explain that without explaining many other things first? There was an entire _context _that Harry was missing: the history of pure-blood families and their relationships to one another; how no ally ever did anything for another without gain, which made selflessness both distrusted in general and loved when it did appear; how Harry could command what he wanted now that he had made the appropriate sacrifice to join the Malfoy family, but how the family would not like Harry treating the benefits he had won so cavalierly, as if they didn't matter to him.

Draco despaired of explaining it. More, he despaired of making Harry listen, when he couldn't listen enough not to _flex his back like that._

"You are the single most stupid person I know," he said. It wasn't what he had meant to say, really—he was trying to think of how to broach the subject of Harry's ignorance—but it was what slipped out, and Harry, Harry-like, seized on it.

"Does that mean you want someone else treating your father?"

Draco scowled. "It's not—it's not _traditional _stupidity," he said. He knew he was groping after words, and he hated it. He was always unattractive when he was trying to decide what to say, and that meant he wouldn't impress Harry either as a potential lover or as a representative of the family he had joined. "You have knowledge of mediwizardry that I never will, that's _more _than plain." He snorted, and hoped Harry would take that as enough of a compliment. "But you can't care for yourself in the most basic matters, where even Goyle would have no trouble—Potter, are you _listening _to me?" He had just looked up to realize that Harry was holding a book he had obviously Summoned during the course of Draco's stammering attempts at eloquence, and which he was considering with more interest than he had used to attend to Draco's words.

_I make the effort, and then he can't respond to it. _Draco was not used to investing so much of himself in another person without getting something in return. He hardly refrained from running a hand through his hair. He knew he couldn't, because it would make him look awful, but the temptation was there, which it hadn't been in years.

"Every overdramatically emphasized word of it," Harry said, and marched into yet another library. Draco was losing count. The Manor had more, though, if Harry was interested in them. It also had more books, and it did _not _have the doxies' nest that Draco could see hanging in one corner under the fireplace.

"You can't—" Draco began, weary. He felt some sympathy for Weasley and Granger for giving up, if they had to fight through stubbornness as thick as what confronted him now. It didn't look as though Harry gave a damn for anyone's worries about his health. The obsession with his patients' pain was a strange form of selfishness.

"No legal authority prevents me," Harry said.

Draco lost his head a bit, then; he could admit that, later. "Then let common sense have some authority!" He grabbed Harry's arm. A tiny sigh was his only warning before a spark of magic half-cooked his nails and made him let go perforce. He leaped back and stared at his hand. No mark—which only confirmed the wandless nature of the spell, which only made him desire Harry more, which only made him think about the obstacles and want to beat himself to death with the stone upon which the doxies' nest hung.

Harry had already turned the flames green with Floo powder when Draco looked up again. Draco felt briefly the dizziness, one step removed from nausea, he'd experienced when Gregory dragged him onto some Muggle technological toy that tilted the rider in a hundred directions at once. Yes, he would go to hospital still injured, wouldn't he?

"I have a good mind to stay here," Draco said. "You'll run into trouble without me. That might teach you to reflect on what I've done for you and be grateful."

Harry sighed and glanced back at him. He had a look on his face as if _he _were the one who had to deal with himself, instead of Draco. "Malfoy, don't you understand? I didn't ask for this protection. I didn't _want _it. Your father isn't different from any other patient to me."

"I _know _you dislike him." Draco scowled warily at him, wondering what the dunderhead was talking about.

Harry leaned forwards. "I won't let that dislike prevent me from treating him," he said precisely. "It doesn't matter when I'm his mediwizard and he's my patient. You don't need to stick to my side. You don't need to honor me. You don't need to think the Heart's Blessing spell was an extraordinary thing to have done. It's not. I've done the same thing for a few other people before, and I'll do it again in the future. Taking care of your father is mundane for me."

Draco blinked slowly, feeling his hold on his jaw weakening again. He had hoped that Harry at least understood that what he'd done was extraordinary from the way the Malfoys reacted, but apparently not.

"And that's why you don't need to offer to protect me," Harry finished, "or offer me potions, though I'm grateful you did. And that's why I don't find it necessary to accept your companionship in bed, either. That's my personal life, outside of the interactions of patient and mediwizard, and I get to say what I do with it. Don't rely on the Heart's Blessing spell or my position as regards your father to soften me. If you and I ever were lovers, it would have to be because I liked you, not simply because we were in close proximity." He hesitated, then added as if he were choking on the words, "And you're handsome and witty enough to find someone who actually likes you as a person, rather than chasing futilely after someone who'll always reject you."

He turned around and whirled into the flames with a call of, "St. Mungo's lobby!"

Silence descended where he had been.

And the world changed for Draco.

* * *

He sat on the couch in the library from which Harry had departed some time after—it felt like an hour, but was assuredly only five minutes—and combed his fingers through his hair, thinking with some incredulity of how badly he had been mistaken.

No, he had not found the words to introduce Harry to the context of the Heart's Blessing spell and the world of the pure-blood families. But he had come to understand Harry's context, in words that Harry probably hadn't meant to deliver the blow they had.

No _wonder _Harry found it hard to understand Draco and Lucius and Narcissa, let alone their family's ideals. He was acting in a world as free from those entanglements as it was possible to be. He had never had to make a choice and wonder if doing so would hand that other person the key to his family's safety, if there was some information he had missed that would explain that lover's motives as less than pure.

Or, at least, he had _not _done so, although the Dark Lord's legacy should probably have made him more wary. Draco could admire his stubborn perverseness. The Chosen One had refused to let the Dark Lord's choice control his love life.

And if he had chosen against sense—well, Draco could see how that one manifestation of obstinacy might be carried into other areas of his life, too. He would refuse to consider his own safety because it was what he "should" do, what he would be "expected" to do in the wake of the war and the threats against his life. Draco had been wrong to think he did not understand the pure-bloods' danger. He did, but he had decided to ignore it because he hated the consequences, the caution he would have to practice otherwise, more than he hated physical pain.

He needed someone who could teach him that he could retain his freedom without having to act as if he _never _considered the consequences. His friends must have understood only part of that. Or else they didn't have the power over his heart they'd need to prevail on him.

Draco did not have the weakness of Granger and the Weasels' excessive compassion—and he was sure he could establish the needed power over Harry's heart. Harry had handed him the key himself, though he didn't realize it.

_If you and I ever were lovers, it would have to be because I liked you, not simply because we were in close proximity._

Draco had gone wrong by trying to approach Harry's seduction in terms of what they could offer each other. Harry wouldn't think of that. He hadn't sat down, as Draco would have, and weighed Adoranar's good looks against the annoyance his ingratiating ways would cause. He had chosen, probably, because Adoranar was handsome and nice to him.

Draco smiled wryly. Yes, Harry had changed since Hogwarts, but not that much. He really ought to have recognized that mode of operation from their second meeting. Harry had chosen Weasley because he liked him and because Weasley was nice to him, not because he was thinking of the potential political advantage. Reared by Muggles, he would have been ignorant of those political advantages, in any case.

Draco could not blame him for his ignorance. He couldn't expect Harry to somehow intuit the truth from Draco's actions and vague hints. Harry would need to be taught, explained to but not condescended to—

And he would need to see what was _likeable _about Draco, not simply what was desirable about him.

Draco stood straight and stretched his arms over his head. Yes, it was a different order of business than what he usually dedicated himself to when he began a seduction, but he thought himself equal to it. After all, this was not a seduction with the view of spending two or three nights, or a few fortnights, in bed with the same person.

Harry was Draco's. It was time to show him why he should be interested in making Draco his.


	10. Outmaneuvering

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Ten—Outmaneuvering _

"You will not convince me otherwise, Narcissa."

For a moment, Narcissa let her eyes fall shut. She stood with her back to her husband, facing the door of his room, in case someone should try to come through it. She had said that she could not stand the poor manners that his weakness had conferred on him, but they both knew the real reason. Since Draco was not with him right now, and he was still not competent to guard himself, his wife had to take on that role.

That did not mean necessity did not convey its own graces—in this case, an excuse to keep her face turned away from her husband, so that he would not see her expression.

"I ask you only to think of the future," she said, when she was certain she had the control not to snap at him. Her voice came out as utterly uninterested. She was proud of herself. "Not the immediate future, but the one beyond that, when you are well again and people began to think of other things where you are concerned. What will they say, then, of Lucius Malfoy having Harry Potter in his home?"

"They will reckon it a wise move." Lucius sounded supremely satisfied with himself, and as if he had a bit of chicken stuck in the corner of his mouth. Narcissa's wand twitched. Ordinarily, she would have cast the spell to remove it, but she was not feeling that generous at the moment. "They'll know, soon enough, what he did for me. They would talk more if we _excluded _a member of our family from the home, when he has a claim to our hospitality."

Narcissa had to acknowledge the justice of that, but she still hoped that Potter's own nature would keep him from accepting the invitation Lucius wanted to tender. "I cannot so highly appreciate the qualities you see in him," she said instead. "Yes, he is honest. Yes, he seems to care for your recovery. But after that? When you are well again, and not a patient, but someone who has hurt his treasured friends in the past?"

"The bonds of blood—"

"Are something he does not _understand._" Narcissa turned around and faced her husband then. She could accept, intellectually, that Lucius and Draco both thought Potter understood more about blood and the importance of the Heart's Blessing spell than he really did; she revolted against their putting the notion into practice outside their heads. "He never will, without an explanation, and you were the one who told me once that you had tried to explain it to several half-bloods and never encountered comprehension."

Lucius's eyelids flickered and his fork scraped a bit more heavily at his plate than normal, the only signs that her dart had gone home. "Potter is different," he said instead. "We will bring him into our home, and by the time that the bond between patient and mediwizard begins to fade, we will have encouraged him to love us." He looked back up at her, his smirk already growing again. "He has encountered little enough true love and loyalty in his life. A few minor encouragements, and he will be ours."

Narcissa held back an impatient sigh by setting her lips. Lucius was many things, but he was _not _patient, and he had never been as capable of seduction as he thought he was. If his marrying Narcissa had been predicated on his ability to win hearts alone, they would have been standing there twenty years later whilst Lucius tried to figure out what had gone wrong with his earnest assurances that "The House of Black is good enough for the House of Malfoy, barely."

"He will suspect the source of what you offer him," she snapped. "He will remember that you gave the Horcrux to Ginevra Weasley. He will remember that you once were a Death Eater and tried sincerely to kill him. Tell me that you can win your way past that in the few days that it will likely take him to solve the puzzle of the curse."

"You sound as if you didn't want me to try." Lucius widened his eyes at her, showing off the deep blue flecks in the middle of the gray to his advantage.

Narcissa withstood it. He was trying to change the ground of the argument, and she would not allow that any more than she would allow him to win. "I would see you use this alliance for all our sakes, and that means respecting Potter's true character," she said. "He will be _suspicious_, Lucius. We must plan for that. Instead, you simply rely on winning past all his suspicions with a few smiles and pretty words."

"He can't deny what he is," said Lucius. _Complacent, so complacent. _It made Narcissa want to strike the smirk off his face. Ordinarily, she might not have hesitated, but this curse had weakened him. She let a trace of her pity show in her expression, and Lucius looked away, flushing. "Someone who responds to kindness," he continued, stubbornly. "He won't look for traps under every smile, because he doesn't know how to find them in the first place. And everything will be all right in the end, and we'll have a strong ally—"

"Or someone who distrusts us all the more for not being brisk with him, in the middle of our home, and knowing at least a few secrets about our defenses," Narcissa retorted.

Lucius licked his lips. Narcissa inclined her head and moved back towards the bed again; she could feel her eyes glinting with amusement. Pure-blood homes were sacred, the last bastion of defense. She had _thought _she would make Lucius reconsider by reminding him of what would happen if Potter entered Malfoy Manor and was less than perfectly theirs in heart.

"Narcissa—"

They both heard the firm footsteps at the same time, and recognized the cadence of them. Narcissa at once moved to sit in the chair beside the bed, with her hand on Lucius's shoulder, and faced the doorway. Lucius reclined and picked up his fork as if he were finishing his meal and chatting gently to her at the same time. It was a practiced deception, one that would certainly forbid Potter from discerning that they had been talking about him.

_Do you see what we are? _Narcissa asked her husband silently, resting her hand a little more heavily on his shoulder for emphasis. _We plot to fool him even now._

Potter burst into the room, his eyes wide, his demeanor disheveled. Narcissa gave a minor shake of her head, more in amusement than anything else. Someday she would have to make him tell her how he managed to make his entire being, and not only his hair, seem ragged.

"Mr. Potter," Lucius said, and showed his displeasure clearly when Draco did not follow him through the door; Potter would need such unsubtle signals if he was to become accustomed to reading them as they read each other. Narcissa knew she was the only person in existence who would realize that Lucius was also anxious lest some harm might have befallen Draco. "Where is my son?"

"Back at my house," Potter said, and raked a hand through his hair. "There was a bit of excitement and he had to think over whether he really wanted this position, after all." He turned around and began to pace, all the while jerking the words out of his throat as if they were small fish on hooks. "I was ambushed by someone through my wards—undoubtedly one of my ex-lovers—but that doesn't matter. What _does _matter is that Healer Virgo Emptyweed has informed me I'll be pulled off your case and replaced by someone else who'll act as your official Healer."

Lucius flicked a glance at Narcissa. Narcissa inclined her head. Yes, she agreed. They had no choice. They must remove at once to the safety of Malfoy Manor. When danger like this threatened, the pure-blood family made the home their last line of defense.

And Potter would have to come with them after all, Narcissa thought, letting her gaze linger on the young man. They could not risk a member of their family remaining in the open where enemies could threaten him.

It was not that she truly disliked or distrusted him. But he would require patient coaxing and taming, and she was not sure that they could afford the time for that, not when Lucius had to be tended to and any possible information on the curse teased out from the families of former Death Eaters and hospital administrators. Draco might also occupy himself more with Potter's safety or seduction than was wise.

But she would have to put up with it, and as usual in situations when she was the only wise head in the family, she would simply have to do her best to ensure that the cost was not high.

"He wouldn't inform me who'll be replacing me." Potter was still pacing, of course. He was a whirlwind, Narcissa thought; he would never be still. Since she was condemned to his company in any case, she might as well try and enjoy his contrast with her cool, still son, who more often resembled a frozen pond. "I'm afraid it won't be anyone. They want me out of the way because I'm too powerful and I have a political reputation that will probably back me up against anyone who tries to attack me. And, of course, they can do whatever they want to _you_, if they have a compliant Healer attending you." He turned a haggard look on Lucius. "It'll be easier to kill you."

Lucius nodded. "It is utterly clear what we must do."

"Do you know a way to find out who your enemies in St. Mungo's are?" Potter ran a hand through his hair, again, and began to pace, again. Narcissa wondered idly for a moment if house-elves' magic would be able to tame that hair. Looks were not the only thing the reputation of a family might hinge on, but it _would _be pleasant if Potter could appear in public looking like something other than a deformed hedgehog. "I don't have contacts among anyone who really _runs _the hospital, just a few ordinary Healers and mediwizards trying to do their jobs. I don't know how to guarantee your safety."

"Mr. Potter." Narcissa pitched her voice faint and low, so that Potter would have to stop pacing like a madman and listen to her. It worked. Her tactics usually did. "My husband is no longer safe here. We will be removing him from St. Mungo's."

Potter looked startled, then grim, and gave an accepting nod. _Really, Draco, have you tried to explain the importance of pure-blood homes to him at all, that he must look so surprised? _Narcissa addressed her absent son. "I know the names of a few Healers who left the hospital when Emptyweed and idiots like him started becoming prominent," he said. "I can give you their names. Two of them will attend anyone, and won't care about your past. One of them will do anything if you give him enough money, although—"

"I intend to retain your services," Lucius said. "Competence is not easily discovered, and I would be a fool to surrender someone as dedicated as you are." He leaned back against his pillows and bobbed his head in comfortable motions.

That was not enough for Potter, as Narcissa had foreseen that it would not be. He was blinking at them like a startled deer. Retreat would be anathema to him, and stranger still the notion of accompanying them in that retreat. Indeed, his next words showed that he had not even thought of that. "I don't think I could Floo or Apparate out to Malfoy Manor every evening," he whispered. "You wouldn't be getting the best of me when I'd dealt with other patients all day."

"I was not thinking of that," Lucius said.

Narcissa wanted to snap at Lucius for not getting to the point, but Lucius thought he knew best right now, and she would not dispute with him in front of Potter. Their newest son needed reassurance, and a great deal of that reassurance would come from seeing his parents united.

Potter cocked his head. "You want me to consult from a distance? I don't think any of the Healers I mentioned would like a mere mediwizard taking on so much of their work."

"The Heart's Blessing spell, and others like it, are valued for the same reason a friend's surrender of his money to another to pay debts is valued," Lucius said. "Imagine a man who was willing to beggar himself so that a friend might not go to jail. That is true friendship. The friend might not ever be able to pay back the money. And yet, knowledge of the debt remains between them, unforgotten but honored, and thus the money is _shared_, in the truest sense. The Heart's Blessing spell is not an action performed once and forgotten, but a shared drawing on the same life force. My heart beats because yours does." Lucius laid a hand over his chest. "Your blood, in essence, flows in my veins. That explains the color of the red light when you first cast the spell. Some small portion of your blood passed into mine."

Narcissa controlled the urge to roll her eyes. No, she could not interfere, but there was no way to stop her from thinking that Lucius had chosen a bad way to explain the significance of the tie that now connected Potter and their family. The talk of shared money would make him think of life-debts, instead of the sharing of blood and affection.

_Then again, even if Lucius thinks of seducing Potter with affection, he is rubbish at speaking with it._

"And?" Potter was pressing his teeth down on his lip, so that Narcissa was slightly impressed he managed to speak without cutting it and beginning to bleed. Lucius's tactic was working even less well than he had hoped. Not that her husband noticed, of course.

"If the person given such a gift _does _have the means to repay the debt," Lucius said, "he always does. Or—and this was more common in the age when such spells also were—he shares something else. His home, perhaps; the friend who shared his money would have free right of access there. There is no simple cancellation of such a spell, Mr. Potter, but only a building of more bindings, more links. You are welcome into my home, and I will pay you all the money you could desire to continue attending me." He bowed his head with the false humility Narcissa had once checked him sharply for using when he courted her. Potter, the poor man, had no one to tell him it was false. "I hope the connection may continue into the future."

Potter's jaw hung slightly open. _Well, really, _Narcissa thought. _There's no need for him to make himself unattractive and vulnerable both at once. _She made a slight motion.

Luckily, Potter understood her and shut his mouth. "I—surely too much lies between us in the past for that to happen?"

_I told Lucius that this would be a concern for him._ Indeed, if Potter had ties to the Weasley family that were anything like as deep as Narcissa had heard reported, he might forgive the insults and assassination attempts against himself, only to balk at forgiving Lucius for the insults against and attempts to kill the Weasleys. They had been his family first.

Lucius and Draco would both disregard that because of their universal contempt for the Weasleys. Narcissa, as usual the intelligent one when it came to matters of the head against the heart, did not mean to forget.

Lucius shook his head. His gaze was burning. From the way Potter flinched, he found it hard to meet. "Not at all," he said, gently. "You have proven yourself a person with great honor. That is not the impression of you I had before. I thought you more lucky than anything else. It has been, traditionally, pure-blood wizards and witches who achieved such sharing, not half-bloods."

Potter glared. Lucius ignored him. Narcissa let her tongue fall against her teeth and the inside of her mouth without making a sound. She could have told Lucius not to say anything like that, not if he really wanted to win Potter's good regard. Potter might feel concern for Lucius as a patient, but that was a far cry from abandoning the prejudices in favor of Mudbloods that he had grown up with.

"Now you have shared yourself with my family outside the bounds of war, and in spite of our being on opposite sides then. I would welcome you among the Malfoys." He bared his teeth. Narcissa eyed him critically. She knew that for a sign of dangerous excitement, with him. "And hopefully I can cure that disgraceful lack of ambition you seem to have, to lift you to a position more deserving of your talents."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as she watched Potter twitch a little. He would have heard words like that before, from those meaning to use him. Truly, Lucius had no sense of subtlety when he became emotionally involved.

And then Potter seemed to come to some kind of decision, because his face smoothed out. "I'll stay with you in the Manor until we find a cure," he said. "Then I'll ask you for enough money to set myself up in private practice."

Lucius nodded and smiled, in that way that said he was sure he could change the speaker's mind.

Narcissa did not put a hand over her face. Yes, Lucius's analogies had given Potter entirely the wrong idea. He thought of it as a debt, to be repaid with some sort of equal exchange.

Narcissa might have called him stupid, but it was Lucius's fault, for not considering his words more carefully.

And of course the onus would fall on her, to repair the wound before it could gape wide between them and to make Potter feel not only safe in the Manor but truly welcome in the family.

Sometimes, she did have to lament that she had not married into a family more worthy of her talents and her endless exertions on their behalf.

* * *

When he heard the flare of the Floo, Draco hurriedly climbed to his feet and got into character, casting a small enchantment that would make his face red and then clenching his fists at his sides. No matter how much he understood Harry now, and no matter how productive their time apart had been, the git was not allowed to think he could get away with simply dashing into danger unprotected.

"Stay there for a moment," he snapped, when he spotted Harry ducking out of the fireplace.

Harry raised an eyebrow and paused, but then said, as if he could not bear the thought of obeying Draco in any way, "Don't tell me you're a painter and you need me to model for you." He tilted his head back and strained his neck in what he probably imagined _was _the way models posed. "I haven't seen any sort of a palette or eye for color. Mind you, you've got the air of pretentious importance down _pat_."

Draco clenched his teeth. It wasn't so hard, after all, to summon irritation with the prat. "I want you to stay there," he said, "because then I might not kill you. Do you have any idea how stupid that was, running off to hospital without a bodyguard when someone just threatened your life?" Harry _would _understand that Draco took his safety seriously. It was the area of common sense he was most deficient in, though Draco could name one or two others contending for the title.

"I thought I explained about the Beetle's Bite." Harry stretched in a way that made Draco flinch inwardly, thinking of what it would do to his wound. "And can I be blamed when my 'bodyguard' refuses to come with me?"

Draco flushed in spite of himself. Yes, he had needed the distance from Harry to think; when he was near him, his emotions got tangled up in coils of fury and he found himself reacting more than he acted. Still, that was no reason he couldn't have cast a bodyguard spell before Harry left that would have warded him nearly as well. Merlin knew the hospital was crawling with enemies. "You act as if you despise your own life," he whispered. "What would you tell a patient of yours in the same situation who insisted on climbing out of his bed and rushing off to do emotionally intense work, no matter what the spell he'd been hit with was?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, then turned away, but not before Draco had seen the incipient scowl creeping across his face. He hoped he had made some impression. Harry _must _see the parallels between that imaginary case and his own even if he refused to admit it to himself.

And sure enough, he was trying to change the subject. "We have more important things to talk about."

"We don't—" Draco began, utterly certain that Harry would not allow the conversation to come back to his injury if once he had the chance to turn it.

"Someone tried to remove me from your father's case," Harry said, practically running towards the library door, like the coward he could sometimes be. "I informed him of this, and he's decided that St. Mungo's isn't safe for him anymore. He's going home to Malfoy Manor. I'm to follow him, and stay there until I've cured him."

Draco's muscles locked with astonishment, and he actually let Harry get out of the room and to the top of that disreputable flight of stairs before he went after him.

Panting, he shouted, "_What_?" partially in order to exorcise his shock and partially to disguise the emotions tumbling through him. _Oh, Father, well played. No doubt that he would never have agreed to come to the Manor otherwise._

Harry turned around to look at him, and his eyes widened slightly. Draco wondered for a moment if it was from Draco's sheer nearness or the way he looked. Harry's face had softened, and something tugged the corner of his mouth that could have been the start of a smile, or else a frown at his own emotions.

The next moment, he had turned away, opened his bedroom door, and gestured with his wand for his bag to pack itself. Draco hid his own smile by casting his eyes down. Yes, Harry was more affected than he liked, and of course he wasn't about to own up to it.

"I'll stay in the Manor with you for a few weeks," Harry went on, leaning against the wall in a way he probably hoped came off as casual. "Your father has agreed to set me up in a private practice as soon as I've cured him."

Draco fought hard to keep from raising an eyebrow; he was sure his father had promised no such thing, given that he would want to keep Harry safe with the rest of the family behind the wards. And if he had promised it, well. Malfoys had been known to lie, at times.

Harry grinned suddenly. "Just because you were in the House of the Snake doesn't mean you have to forget you possess eyelids," he said.

Draco felt this give and take of innuendo and teasing had gone far enough, at least without a response from him. He leaned nearer still, until his brow almost touched Harry's, and planted his hands on either side of Harry's head. Harry tensed and shivered like a startled deer, but, most interestingly, the hairs on his arms were rising from what was excitement instead of fear or startlement, or Draco didn't know his prey. He leaned close and let the exhalations of his words act on Harry as well as deliberate puffs of air might.

"Good," he whispered. "I know what went wrong, now."

"What went wrong?" Harry frowned, his eyes regaining a bit of their alertness. "With your father, you mean? You have some idea about the linked curses? Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Not about that." Draco laughed, because showing his true irritation would make him a spectacle of absurdity. Of course Harry had Lucius on his mind instead of the discussion they'd had before he disappeared to hospital. Of course he did. "Why would I know about healing when I've never seriously studied it? Besides, I have absolute faith in your skills, and I know you'll return my father to normal without help. No. I meant I know why my attempt to seduce you went wrong."

"I should hope you would," Harry said, even as his eyes softened, "after I told you in great detail."

The next moment, he was shoving at Draco's shoulders, as if he thought that they needed distance between them now that Draco had made a generous admission. Irritated, Draco set his feet and resisted the shove, leaning down to breathe on Harry's ear. That earned him a shiver and a half-turn of the head; Draco found himself gazing at a flushed face and slightly parted lips, as though Harry were readying himself for a kiss.

"It's a challenge," Draco said. "I haven't had to seduce anyone the way I'll have to seduce you." He couldn't blame himself for sounding delighted, not when he had just seen how responsive to his blandishments Harry was. "It'll involve more self-control than I've had to use before. But I'll have you in my bed at last."

_And that's a promise, Harry. _

"You wouldn't like me in bed," said Harry, his eyes acquiring a hard and disagreeable sheen again.

And then he put an ankle behind Draco's leg and _twisted. _Draco staggered, flailed, waved his hands in the air in a graceless way that would make him blush to remember, and nearly fell. That he didn't was more due to his own innate balance than to any kindness Harry had given him. He caught himself at last a breath from tumbling down the stairs—

And a breath from grabbing Harry's shoulders, shaking him, and asking him what his _problem _was. Draco slowed his breathing deliberately and then swallowed back the bile gathering in his throat. No. He had to cling to his precious advance, the advice Harry had given him without meaning to do so. Harry needed to like him before he'd let Draco do everything Draco wanted to do, including, probably, keeping Harry away from danger. An ill-natured snap would set everything backwards now. Go with a compliment instead.

"I can't imagine you being anything but graceful and passionate in bed," he breathed.

Harry picked up the bag his spell had been packing, and did it with a look of bored loathing that made Draco's face sting. "I'm very boring. Just ask Francis."

"Francis?" Draco demanded, and then smoothed his own breathing again with an effort. _No, I won't be angry that he insists on talking about old lovers, and that they insist on showing up. I won't. It's something, isn't it, to note that he's stooped to deriding his bed skills? He's trying to defend himself from me, and that means he's at least partially interested, and knows it._

"The fifth person I dated," said Harry, and then snapped his fingers, summoning the house-elf to play distraction. Draco half-curled his lip as he studied the dirty hair projecting from the ears of—Kreacher, he thought Harry had said the elf's name was. Or perhaps Draco remembered it from hearing his mother talk about it during the war. "Would you make sure Ron and Hermione learn I'm gone to Malfoy Manor and that I'm perfectly safe?" he asked.

"I don't know about _perfectly_," Draco said. Perhaps he should not have, but it irked him to be dismissed from a conversation as if he didn't exist, and in favor of a house-elf, of all things.

"Shut up," Harry snapped, and for just a moment, his eyes flashed a hard green that caused Draco's breath to catch. Amusement, competence, anger—it seemed there was no mood that didn't look good on Harry. Of course, if Draco had been allowed to use his tongue to appreciate those moods more, and in a way that didn't only involve talking about them, things would have been better still.

"Good," Harry said to the elf, and then turned to Draco again. "What Floo address do you use for the Manor? Just 'Malfoy Manor?'"

Draco opened his mouth to respond, and then Harry's words caught up with him.

The _trust _they conveyed.

God, he hadn't thought Harry was ready for anything of the kind. He had expected to endure several pointed insults and reminders of the things Harry had suffered when held prisoner in the Manor during the war before they could get him behind the wards. And then he turned blindly to Draco and offered an equally blind gift of trust.

"Is it under the Fidelius?" Harry asked, apparently coming up with his own interpretation of Draco's silence. "Your father didn't mention that."

"No," Draco said, in a voice he was startled sounded so calm. "It's Malfoy Manor, as you surmised. I need to go ahead to open the connection for you, though. It automatically responds to someone of the blood, but it would simply bounce you out if you tried to enter it without an invitation."

And he turned and trotted out of the room, before Harry could decide the expression on his face referred to the setting of a trap. His blood was humming along his veins, and he found himself swallowing multiple times before he could get his emotions under control.

Harry was exasperating, furiously stupid about his own life and his own safety, dedicated to pouring his great gifts into nothingness—

And he would share his blood with the Malfoys without a thought, and as thoughtlessly offer a trust Draco had not looked to earn until weeks had gone past.

_If only we can teach him to use the qualities he has and ignores right now, whilst retaining the ones favorable to us! I hardly dare to think of what he could become, then._

Draco tried to envision a future in which Harry stood at his side, his respected and trusted and _trusting_ partner, as well as his lover and a member of the Malfoy family, towards whom he no longer had any reservations.

His mind sheered away from the vision. It was too brilliant.

_I will have it, though. I won't settle for less. The problem will be making sure that _he _doesn't, either._


	11. Comfort and Beauty

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Eleven—Comfort and Beauty_

Narcissa dressed carefully.

A red gown, it would be, for multiple reasons. It would match the room in which she stood to welcome Potter to her home; it would soften her face and lend color to her features; it would touch something deep in Potter, at least if he was as much of a Healer as she thought he was; it would echo the Heart's Blessing spell, which was a benefit for her if not for Potter.

She had to remember what they owed him, even in the moments when it was most difficult.

She stepped back from her mirror and cocked her head critically. The mirror extended itself when she motioned with one finger. It drew molten silver from a source implanted in the wall behind it, and spread glittering arms along the walls, flashing here her face, there the back of her head, there the middle of her spine, the place she always found most difficult to see without this trick. A murmured spell, and the spot of mirror remaining directly in front of her glowed with a spell that assembled the reflections in her mind and let her see herself as she _was_, and not merely as flattering light or fancy would have her.

Narcissa turned and swirled her skirts behind her, then calmed herself with a faint smile and a tap of her foot. Yes, she looked better than well. Another spell caused the carpet to become softer, which cushioned her feet in the fancy slippers she wore. The magic ran in a faint, fuzzy wave beneath the door. It would continue down the stairs and blend seamlessly with the carpet in the entrance hall, where she would rendezvous with Potter, ensuring she walked in comfort all the way.

Before she left, she turned with a hand on the door and craned her neck to look around the room, trying to see it with a stranger's eyes. Potter would never have experienced this level of comfort and beauty before. If she could imagine how he would react to her chambers, then she might be able to think of how he would react to the rest of the house, and what changes she should order the elves to make.

Her rooms resembled a secluded bower in an enclosed garden; Narcissa had always preferred _crowded _space, over the mere largeness that Lucius favored or the number of discrete ornaments in discrete places that Draco gravitated to. The ceiling was high, but from it hung braided skeins of mirrors, visible wards, bells, crystal, and gems, mostly emeralds, sapphires, and firegems, those cousins to opals which cast a milky iridescence over a background of solid color, rather than the other way around. The lowest of the skeins nearly brushed Narcissa's hair. The bed was one of a number of cushioned shelves planted along the walls, blending with the windowsills and the ordinary cabinets in which Narcissa kept her collections of shells and ferns. The cushions glowed red, blue, and green, changing color subtly with the turning of the skeins. A net of rugs covered the floor, which itself was carpeted beneath them, the patterns rippling from the carpet onto the rugs without a break. Magic had made and matched the carpet, but Narcissa had bought the rugs from ordinary weavers. She preferred the touch of real craftsmanship to that which she knew would come if she used spells.

She suspected Potter would gape at all the extravagance and luxury and declare it waste. He would flinch and be unhappy with the skeins hanging over him. He wouldn't see the point of making many sitting places soft, when most people needed only one bed to sleep in. And no doubt he would never notice that the floor beneath him had both carpet and rugs; Narcissa doubted that he was sensitive to textures.

Narcissa let her eyelids fall as she shut the door behind her. There was no reason for her to give up her own beauties; Potter would not be intruding into her rooms. But they had chosen fine, comfortable rooms for him as well, because there were no poor ones in the Manor. How to convince him to use them and like them? Because he would have to like being part of the family, or Narcissa doubted he would stay long, and it was easier to introduce someone to objects he would praise than to make him care for the Malfoys as people.

Be solicitous for his comfort, of course. Take his concerns seriously. Neither Draco nor Lucius would, Narcissa knew; Draco had already told her slightly incredulously that Potter seemed to care more for his libraries than for the room where he slept, and Lucius seemed to think springing the Manor's finery as a surprise on Potter was the best course. He _did _delight in catching Potter off-guard.

But Potter already had confidence issues, Narcissa thought, as she passed down the first staircase and beside her husband's rooms. A glance in that direction showed that Lucius had engaged his wards again. And a house-elf stood outside the door, his face stern and his arms folded. Narcissa smiled at recognizing Rogers, certainly the most valuable elf the Malfoys owned, and one that Narcissa could have wished in her own family when she was a little girl.

"Good evening, Rogers," she said. "You are looking forwards to our new arrival?"

"Rogers is not," said the elf, his ears twitching to the sides and then flattening like the ears of a sulky donkey. "He must be _trained. _He will not know the Malfoy code of conduct. And Master Draco says that he does not want to know the rules." He gave an emphatic nod, though whether to the words themselves or to some private confirmation of them in his head, Narcissa wasn't sure. "And rules is being life."

Narcissa shook her head. "I think Master Draco prejudiced against Master Harry," she said. "Because Harry does not do exactly what Draco wants when he wants, he decides that means he's disobedient. But—"

"Master Harry is not being an elf," said Rogers, frowning. "He is not needing to obey every request Master Draco makes of him."

"I know that." Narcissa smiled again. "But do you remember what Draco acted like when he was a baby and had acquired that pet Kneazle?"

"Dreadful," said Rogers promptly. "Master Draco was not knowing how to treat something small but independent of him. He pulled its tail, and it clawed his hand."

"Exactly," said Narcissa. "And by the time he learned better, the Kneazle was wary and wouldn't come near him again for fear of being tormented. I want you, Rogers, to prevent that from happening this time."

"Master Draco shall not be alienating Master Harry," said Rogers, and clicked his heels together as he bowed his head. Narcissa had never managed to determine how he could make such a loud noise with his feet when he wore no shoes, but then, some mysteries of house-elves should belong to the house-elves. "Rogers is promising it."

"Very good, Rogers." Narcissa turned and swept around a turn in the corridor, confident that she could trust the safety of both Lucius's body and Draco's temper to their old and faithful retainer.

* * *

Potter emerged from the fireplace with soot in his hair. Well, perhaps the shower in his rooms would be sufficient to take care of that. Narcissa found herself using a faint smile as she stepped forwards and extended her hands. Despite her doubts about Potter becoming part of their family permanently unless Lucius and Draco tried to understand him better—both his strengths _and _his limitations—she did enjoy the chance to play one of her least-used roles and welcome a new family member home. She had only done it before after Draco's birth. And a grown man would be a better spectator of the grand rooms than an infant would.

"Mr. Potter. Be welcome to our home, as one who shares our blood and has our good will in mind."

Potter bowed, and even though Narcissa thought he was only doing it to conceal his surprise, she admired the formal gesture. Perhaps he wasn't entirely hopeless after all.

Of course, he was more slender than he should be, to the point that one of the wrists sticking out of his sleeves looked like a stick, and his hair was a disaster, and his glasses were tackier than they should be. But perhaps the glasses could stay. They added a certain charming air of _ordinariness _to his face, and Narcissa thought they could do with that when people began to question, incredulously, why Harry Potter was staying with the Malfoys.

His eyes darting to every landscape and tapestry in the room, past the warm carpets whilst noticing their red and green colors, and up to the small starlamps that lit the distant ceilings of the hall, he took her hands. "I—thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. Of course, maybe I should say that your husband shares my blood rather than the other way around."

His voice rose in a hopeful lilt at the end. Narcissa nearly gave herself away by raising an eyebrow. He sounded as though he wanted her to dispute with him.

_Why? _

And then of course she understood, as completely and thoroughly as she had anticipated his discomfort with the size and beauty of the house. _Because it would comfort him to be in opposition to us. He's been in opposition to us for so long. And he still does not define this as a permanent arrangement in his own mind. He resists and stamps his heels. He wants us to act more like the Malfoys he remembers._

Narcissa could not please him there; she would not deliberately antagonize someone who had saved her husband's life with shared blood, though she could wish it had been someone else, who already knew more of their traditions. But Potter would do. And when he had had some instruction and earned himself a place in the household by a little judicious struggle with Draco and Lucius, he would more than do. She had to admit that.

She smiled, and watched his eyes widen at the gesture. No, he had not expected any of this. "When someone has done as much for us as you have, Mr. Potter, how one speaks of the sharing does not matter as much as the fact of that sharing." She rolled a shoulder, and a floating candle darted over to them. Potter blinked at that, too. "If you will follow me? I chose your room, and whilst it is magnificent, it is also some distance from the entrance."

She had done that deliberately, to give Potter time to grow used to the splendor of the house as they passed through it. But it would do no good to say so. Potter would only accuse her of manipulating his reactions, and not understand if Narcissa explained that of _course _she was. One thing honest, guileless people like Potter found hard to comprehend was the use of manipulation for comforting ends.

But in this case, perhaps she should have explained it to him, because her manipulation seemed to fail. The higher they got, the more Potter's shoulders tensed, and the one time he smiled, Narcissa was sure he was thinking of something else. Not even the glorious colors of the staircase they passed, echoing deserts, forests, seascapes, and other scenes she had thought would appeal to him, with the passion for Quidditch and being outside that Draco had described in him, soothed him.

"Really, Mrs. Malfoy," he blurted out as they reached the top of the staircase, "I don't need a _magnificent _room. A comfortable one will do fine."

Narcissa threw him a quick smile over her shoulder, and caught his eyes, wide and staring, and the wordless way his hands twisted together.

And a shudder of sweet compassion passed through her and melted some of the previous prejudice she'd had against him. Ah, she should have known. Yes, Potter was guileless, but she had been thinking of that word strictly in the sense that it meant he did not understand the gestures and small rituals any pure-blood wizard would have gauged the meaning of in moments. It _also _meant that he did not perform manipulations of his own. And his discomfort was pure and real.

Combine that with what Draco had said about Potter not believing that he deserved the small beauties of ordinary human life, and Narcissa understood her new son much better. He would come to understand his surroundings only when he internalized the idea that he didn't deprive anyone else by enjoying them.

She would need to relax him, or he would never reach that point. And so she let go of enough of her own reserve—easier than she had expected it to be, when he had shown her so much of himself—in order to make a small joke. "I'm afraid there are no rooms in the Manor that are not both, Mr. Potter," she said, with some truth, though it omitted the dungeons. "You will simply need to tolerate it."

She went on, though she heard him stumble slightly with surprise as he followed her. She muffled her smile with her wrist pressed against her mouth as they rounded several more corners in the corridor and came to a stop at last before an oak door with a bronze knocker in the middle of it. She touched the knocker, and heard Harry shuffle behind her as though he thought that would cause a ward to spring out of the door and devour him.

It _did _activate the wards, but since he was the one staying in this room, he would have complete control over them. Perhaps he did not appreciate that—Draco had told her about the insufficiency of the wards on Harry's house—but he would have them nonetheless. The quiet, continued presence of certain objects could cause those objects to become necessary to one's existence. Narcissa, who had had to put up with the panic of the Malfoy house-elves when she ordered them to buy new cutlery on her marriage, had ample experience with the process.

She believed that Harry should be able to _understand _those objects, however, and not simply have his understanding of them assumed, as his understanding of pure-blood customs was assumed by Draco and Lucius. That might be flattering, but it was not practical. She said, "This knocker is the center of your wards. It will secure them across the door so that no one but you can disturb them whilst you're in the room. When you come out, only touch the knocker if you wish to change them—to allow others to have access to your room when you're elsewhere, for example. Of course, the house-elves have access no matter what the settings of the wards." She flicked her fingers towards the knocker this time and whispered the Latin command for them to transfer their allegiance from the Malfoy family in general to Harry in particular. She didn't think Harry needed to know that word _just _yet. If the worst happened and he tried to betray them or invite the Weasleys in without their permission, then at least he would not be able to take over other rooms in the Manor.

Harry gave an audible gasp as they stepped into the room. Narcissa glanced around, and smiled a little. She supposed she could understand Harry's overwhelmed response, since this chamber was one of the most beautiful in the house. At the same time, its natural resemblances should, she hoped, give him that comforting feeling of being outside and not enclosed in walls.

She had assigned Harry a suite of rooms with a library, a loo, and a bedroom. After some thought, she had decided against giving him any of the sets that had a dining room attached; that would only grant him an excuse to eat in his room and avoid contact with them at meals. He must become acclimated to their presence more quickly than that, if this small experiment was to work at all.

This room had once been decorated in violent shades of green and silver; it had been Lucius's room for the year before he went to Hogwarts, with his father apparently intent on pushing his heir into Slytherin against the slimmest odds that he might go elsewhere. Narcissa had to admit to some contempt for Abraxas Malfoy, both because he did not have the slightest understanding of Lucius's character—or he would have known that room not necessary—and because his choices in green and silver had been hideous. She had redecorated, and she had chosen green for the dominant color.

Both carpet and tapestries were green, but Narcissa had varied the color of the tapestries more, modeling them on the various shades of sunlight that would appear through the leaves of a forest in summer. Towards the end, therefore, they parted into blue and gold, as the sun and the sky would begin to appear through such leaves. She had let some of the wood show, because that would give the simulacra of trunks and increase the sense of being outdoors. She had striven hard to keep a delicate balance between the beauty of the wood and the impression that she could not afford enough tapestries to cover the entire room; she had known Death Eaters' wives who would have thought the latter. Even if they never saw it, even if this room remained one that only those of their blood sojourned in and those only occasionally, Narcissa was not inclined to show weakness.

The theme continued in the bed, which had posts and rods and legs—though _they_ were hard to see from this angle, Narcissa had to admit; she had not considered the view from the door sufficiently—carved to look like branches and roots. Glimpses of bark-faces shone now and then from the headboard. Narcissa was not fond of them, but the carver she had hired had insisted on putting them in, and she had supposed genius must have its little freaks. Besides, she could hide them sufficiently with the green curtains and the brown and green pillows. Harry looked a little heartsick as he stared at them. Narcissa wondered if they reminded him irresistibly of something evil from his own past. She would ask Rogers to change their colors subtly and watch the expressions on Harry's face when he did so.

And of course there were cabinets among the tapestries and on the walls, especially near the library door, mimicking the crevices that might open between the roots and inside the trunks of hollow trees. Narcissa thought that Harry might appreciate them as places to put his notes, Healing books, and anything else that he was not ready to share with his family.

"I do hope you appreciate it," Narcissa said, calculating that enough time had passed to allow Harry to stew in silence and turning towards him. She made sure to keep her voice calm, so that Harry would know she was anxious for his comfort, not for his gratitude. "Some of the other rooms are larger, but they don't have attached libraries. The house-elves have brought up all the books we have on healing, and of course there are spaces for any you brought with you."

Harry spent a moment staring at the floor. Narcissa expected the protest, but not the words that began it.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said.

Narcissa was startled for a moment, and then chided herself. _Of course a pure-blood would know to call me by my first name now, but he is not a pure-blood. I will be caught up in Lucius and Draco's blindness next if I do not watch myself._

"Please call me Narcissa." She smiled again—Harry seemed to need a lot of smiling—and sent the candle floating to cast more shadows around the room. Perhaps it would seem less intimidating to him if it looked smaller. "That's a privilege that family members have."

And she did want to hear the name from his lips, she realized. He was charming in his own way, as Draco might have been if he had grown up hardened to battle-danger but unskilled in the more subtle ways of living. Sometimes Narcissa thought Draco might have been better off if she and Lucius had raised him that way.

But there were rules of pure-blood conduct that could be bent and broken, as Lucius and Draco were continually demonstrating, and there were those that it was good sense to obey. Wars were temporary, subtlety eternal.

"I—you've done _too _much for me," Harry said. "I appreciate this, of course, but I don't deserve it"

_Draco was right. He does have some of the traits of a keen observer, though of course I am the one who contributed them._

"I'm only the mediwizard who's treating your husband. Not even a full Healer! You don't need to—" He paused, and Narcissa knew as clearly as if his chest had opened to show her the words written on his heart that he had been about to say something about bribery. She let it pass, this time. They had committed their own sins of misunderstanding. "You don't need to put yourself out for me in any way," he ended up saying.

Narcissa dropped her smile and moved closer to him. She would need to speak sternly to him, that was clear. He had understood the grandeur and comfort of the Manor, but he refused to apply it to himself. He would not even see that the sheer size of the house meant that the family was unlikely to have been "put out" for him; they would hardly have needed to change their rooms or their habits.

"Harry," Narcissa said, and made her voice lulling, "do you know how many people have ever saved my husband's life?"

"Er." Discomfort wriggled and darted across Harry's face like the silverfish her dear sister Bellatrix had once tried to raise for pets. "Two? Four?"

"One," Narcissa said. "And that was years ago, and the man who did it probably did it for his own reasons." She let the pain at the thought of Severus show; Harry would relax more around emotions he could understand. Besides, it was not hard to be bitter at the thought of the way she had extended her hands to Severus and he had turned his back and walked away, mocking himself and the Malfoys with every step. At least Harry had _accepted _the status in their family that the Malfoys offered. "You have done it twice in a few days, and for reasons that we now know are not self-interested. You will excuse me, I hope, if I honor you as I think you deserve."

_Get him used to the thought of deserving. Draco will do it in his own way, I must do it in mine, and Lucius will do just fine as a patient._

Harry stared at the floor for moments so long that Narcissa thought he might follow Severus away after all. And then he looked up and nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Narcissa held out her hands and waited patiently until he took them. He stamped and shuffled and shifted his bag out of the way. Narcissa leaned in to lightly kiss his cheek. In her head, she incanted a silent blessing, not quite a spell, but words the Black family had sometimes used to turn fate sweet.

Unexpected emotion seized her, as if she had been turned sweet by a spell herself. She wished she could have gathered Harry into her arms and held him there. She wished she could have asked if he had _ever _known an embrace, or someone to tell him he deserved things. She did not think so, from the way he stood.

_This is what comes of letting Muggles raise a wizard child._

And then the tide was gone, and it was a relief to retreat into ritual words. "Be welcome to our home, Harry," she said. "Everything you may need or wish for is at your disposal. Including the good-will of everyone who lives here." She stepped back, curtsied to him, and swept out of the room.

Behind her, when she shut the door, the wards caught and turned sharp edges towards her. Narcissa nodded. That was the way it should be. Until Harry learned to think he merited protection, they would need to defend him.

She turned, then, and paced deliberately down the corridor towards Lucius's room. Draco was with his father, which made the timing convenient for a meeting.

_We must speak._


	12. Malfoys Think One Thing, Potters Another

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twelve—Malfoys Think One Thing, Potters Another _

Lucius became faintly uneasy at the expression on Narcissa's face as she stepped into his room. She had a smile touching the edges of her mouth, but her eyes shone hard and glass-like, and one hand had turned white—well, whiter than usual—where it clutched the edge of her skirt. That usually meant she wanted to talk, and since Draco was with him at the moment, discussing the effect that Lucius's wounds might have on the Manor's wards and would have on their standing in the pure-blood social circles, she would include him in the conversation. Lucius did not look forwards to debating his wife alone. Being caught between son and wife was rather like being caught between Scylla and Charybdis.

Draco, meanwhile, had let his lips very slightly part. Lucius shot him an irritated glance. He did not know where his son got his love of conflict; he was only sure it did not come from him.

"We have a problem that neither of you have anticipated." Narcissa stood in the middle of his bedroom floor, her elbows bent and her hands clasped together so that Lucius could not tell which fingers belonged to which just by looking. Her head was bowed just enough that her hair shaded her eyes and she looked dangerous. Draco edged towards her, and his voice took on a measured eagerness, as if he were a snake charmer wrestling with a particularly recalcitrant cobra.

"And what is that, Mother?"

Narcissa turned her head slowly and pinned Draco with a metallic gaze. Draco's eyes just grew brighter. Lucius checked a sigh. He had already learned, from the words Draco left out of sentences and the way his eyes crept up to stare at the ceiling when Potter was mentioned, that Draco entertained most _unfortunate _feelings for the Chosen One. Lucius could approve of admiration and the urge to seduce Potter for the good of the family. But Draco had given admiration before he had earned admiration in turn. Lucius did not like to think of his son suffering such a weakness in his dealings with Potter.

"You have assumed that Potter could keep up with our nuances, our expectations, and our rules about pure blood and the sharing and protection of it," Narcissa said. "That's not true. He needs more explanations. He suspects a trap buried in the bedroom I offered him."

"Perhaps you smiled in the wrong manner when you offered it," Lucius suggested. He knew that Narcissa's smiles had often put him off when he was in a delicate mood.

"He showed his confusion and fear more openly with me than with either of you," said Narcissa. Lucius saw Draco's cheeks flush and tighten from the corner of his eye. "And though you may think you honor him by letting him grope his way through intellectual mists towards a destination, I assure you that you do not. He would prefer straightforward explanations, so that he might weigh them against his own expectations."

"But Mother," Draco began, in a soothing tone Lucius could not have drawn out of himself at the moment, "explaining like that wouldn't work with him. There's no way I can make him understand why the sharing of blood is so sacred to us. I already tried, and he laughed at me." His voice carried a trace of hurt that Lucius hoped he would hide in front of Potter, for all their sakes. "So it's best if we let him flounder for a bit. That balances the scales of relative power, and it shows him that he needs us as much as we need him."

Narcissa twitched her head very slightly. "He does not think in terms of power dynamics, Draco," she said. "And you should know that by now, considering what you told me. He will gladly give all of himself to heal his patient, and not think that it weakens him in others' eyes. He won't hold back and imagine himself in our debt because he owes us for knowledge."

Lucius decided it was time to make a contribution to the conversation. Narcissa and Draco looked as if they might gladly stand eye to eye all night and clash their words like blades without making an advance. "Though he is ignorant of those dynamics, my lady, nevertheless they exist. We must obey them implicitly because _we _know about them."

Usually Narcissa enjoyed his calling her his lady, but this time the gaze she fastened on him was too bright and unflinching. Lucius was hard put to it to look back at her blankly.

"It would be better," said Narcissa, "if we remembered that Harry is part of the family now, and as such we should not be constantly holding contests with him in our minds, and finding him or ourselves wanting."

"But that's what we do among ourselves, too," said Draco, his voice faintly bewildered. Lucius experienced a pulse of pure envy. Draco was still young enough not to realize that Narcissa could not be persuaded by a mere accusation of deviation from the rules. She broke too many herself. "You and I kept count of insults a whole winter through, once."

"But we know," said Narcissa, "that underlying such counts and scores and contests is love, and those challenges to one another's wills and strength are one of the ways we express that love."

Lucius looked away. Speaking so openly of that emotion ran counter to too many of his instincts. Of course, that was why Narcissa won so many of their arguments: because she had the courage to expose those twitching nerves to cold air.

* * *

Draco struggled for a moment against his shock. His mother did not normally say such words, and he had absorbed the notion that no proper Malfoy would say them, either. The words sounded vulgar—on the edge of falling into soppiness—and a Malfoy always avoided vulgarity. As long as the truths were known, did they need to be named aloud?

But he took his mother's point. _They_ knew the truths were there. Harry would not.

Still, he objected to changing their entire way of life because Harry had entered the family. Surely he should adapt to them, and not the other way around.

"I can get him to understand soon enough, Mother," he said aloud. "That was the way we related to each other at school, a challenge and a rivalry. When he begins to understand how much lies behind those exchanges, then he'll see that we don't watch for weakness in each other for any horrid purpose, but only because doing so strengthens the family."

"So you would go back to being a schoolboy around him, Draco."

Draco held his tongue for long moments, studying his mother's face. He didn't think she was serious; she had understood his point and accepted it, because it was a good one, but she would twist his words around on him, of course, because she was trying to win. And he also wanted to prevent himself from saying something he might regret.

Narcissa stood with her hands clasped more loosely in front of her now, arms relaxed, which Draco regretted. He had sometimes been able to tell the extent of her tension from her elbows as long as they were bent. Her eyes were level, and though they occasionally flicked to his father, Draco knew that was to include Lucius in the conversation, not because she couldn't bear to meet Draco's gaze.

_Bother, _he thought absently, but he was aware of a feral delight in his soul as well, like a duelist circling for an advantage. He _did _enjoy these contests with his mother. Lucius was more likely to humiliate Draco, because his methods were cruder. Narcissa was more likely to baffle him. If Draco had to give in to defeat, he liked to admire the victor.

_The way I admire Harry now. _

And that gave him his answer. He relaxed his own shoulders, handed Narcissa his blandest smile, and replied, "Of course not. A schoolboy would throw down his broom in disgust when someone else was better than he was at Quidditch and storm off the field. A boy finds it hard to admit the strengths in someone else he dislikes, let alone respect them. What I will do is show Harry the charge of my own passion whilst also showing him that I admire and respect him. I think he will find such a combination irresistible."

He could tell from the brief pause before Narcissa blinked that he had impressed her, especially by his unflinching use of the word "passion." That blink was a salute from one opponent to another. _Touché._

"And how should I relate to him, Narcissa?" Lucius's voice was too heavy, too ironic. He could have achieved the same effect if he hadn't laded his voice with acid. "Since you have come to dictate the way we shall."

Draco met his mother's eyes, and they shared a momentary glance of hopeless despair at the way Lucius, an experienced fighter and ruthless politician when he had to be, really did not understand subtlety at all.

"The role you play now shall do," said Narcissa, voice light and sweet and cold as a snowflake. "Only lie back and enable Harry to treat you as a dependent patient, and all will be well."

* * *

Draco smoothed down his forest-green robes—chosen because he thought the color might appeal to Harry, since he  
_had _stayed all night in the green bedroom Narcissa had selected for him—and then turned to Rogers. The old house-elf stood behind him, balancing a silver tray of food across his hands, his expression locked in the stubborn placidity that had made Draco pick him for this assignment. God knew Harry would fuss enough about being waited on by a house-elf. The last thing Draco wanted was for Harry to confuse and fluster one of the younger ones into a fit of weeping, leaving Harry free to slip out the door.

That wasn't going to happen with Rogers. One might as well try to fool a mother dragon about her eggs.

"You know what I want you to do?" Draco asked. As trustworthy as Rogers was, it was best to check that he hadn't interpreted his directions in creative ways. "Exactly what I want you to do?"

"Master Draco is being fussy," said Rogers, only flicking one ear in the way that Draco knew a winged horse might when a fly landed on its hide. "Being fussy will be spoiling Master Draco's skin."

Draco raised a hand to touch his face before he thought about it. Rogers had controlled Draco's behavior when he was sixteen for an entire year by remarking that certain bad actions would cause his skin to break out. Draco had his suspicions about the spots that he _did _find on his nose and chin during that time, of course.

Smiling faintly at the way Rogers had the power to affect him even now, he raised a hand and knocked carefully in the middle of Harry's door. The wards slipped out to brush along his skin with fine edges that would turn sharp in a minute if he was of the wrong blood. But Draco was Malfoy, and they faded away to a soft hum and sparking light in a few moments.

No one responded. Draco raised an interested eyebrow. Perhaps that was a good sign. Harry might have slept so deeply in the comfortable bed—much more sumptuous than the half-ruined contraption that had passed for his resting place in _his _house—that he hadn't awakened at the first sound.

Draco's imagination provided him with a picture of what a rested, half-naked Harry might look like. Draco's common sense told his imagination to sod off. He and Harry had a lot of work to do before they reached that point.

Another knock, and still no answer. Draco then kept knocking with light motions, confident that Harry would hear and respond to him sooner or later. After all, he would probably find it embarrassing if Draco sent in Rogers to shake him out of bed, and Narcissa had assured Draco she'd told Harry that house-elves had access to the room no matter what the setting of the wards.

At last Rogers cocked an ear and remarked, "Master Harry Potter is coming." The ear twitched again and cocked at a sharper angle, and then a frown lit his face in a way that still had the power to make Draco shiver. He would never forget looking up at that frown over a book of his father's that he'd torn half the pages out of and filled with doodles. "Master Harry Potter is coming from the direction of the library. He did not sleep in the bed provided. Master Harry Potter is very naughty and would have his hands ironed if he were an elf."

Draco raised his eyebrows, and then lowered them and scowled. So Harry was still trying to reject their gifts, was he? Of course he was. He was Harry Fucking Potter, who had decided that he might as well throw himself away on patients who ignored him and superiors who denigrated him, because it wasn't as if anyone would ever _appreciate _him. And when he did encounter appreciation, he regarded it as he probably would the idols of a foreign culture, if he had ever traveled outside Britain, which of course he hadn't, the uneducated idiot.

Well, Draco would have to confront him with his errors. Yes, he would be gentle as per his mother's instructions, but Harry could not be allowed to go around rejecting their hospitality and acting as though he believed the Manor a trap. It would make him less of a Malfoy.

When the door flew open, Draco was ready. He allowed himself to blink a little, and no more, when he saw Harry with a large red imprint on one cheek that was probably the result of the library table, his hair standing on end—actually, if Rogers hadn't told him where Harry had slept, Draco probably wouldn't have noticed _that_—and the crusted remains of drool on the side of his chin. No doubt he hadn't showered, either, though one of Draco's first priorities would have been to use the magnificent loo attached to this suite of rooms. Harry had probably refused to look into the loo for fear of being contaminated.

"I've brought you breakfast," he said, and gestured to Rogers. Rogers did not bow, which was more of a compliment than Harry might suppose; at the moment, he was too busy studying his new charge intently, gathering information on what he would need to change about him, and what he would gently suggest needed changing, and what contests he would gracefully lose. "And a few more books from the downstairs libraries that I thought you might need. And a map to my father's room."

He unfolded the map from his robe pocket. _Do you see, Mother? I can be considerate. _And he showed it in his next words, too, choosing them as carefully as he could so they would come across as supportive and not condescending to Harry. "I understand the Manor can be a little overwhelming for someone not used to it." And then he smiled, because he couldn't contain himself at the thought of finally being able to share jokes with Harry, the way he had wanted to so many times at Hogwarts. "I wouldn't want you to get lost down in one of the cellars and starve. Imagine me trying to explain _that _to Granger when she came hunting for you!"

Harry blinked at him, tapping his fingers on the edge of the doorway, and then scowled thoughtfully. Draco hid a smile that would have had a distinctly different meaning. Harry didn't know how to hide his thoughts to save his life. No doubt he imagined he was being deep and inscrutable, but Draco could read all the emotions passing behind his eyes.

_It will be particularly pleasant to see those emotions passing behind his eyes when we fuck for the first time._

Then Draco disciplined his imagination again, because Harry was actually saying, "Please come in," and stepping out of the way. Draco strolled in as if it were the first time he had seen this room and stood looking politely around. The politeness soon became real interest; he had forgotten how beautifully his mother had decorated these rooms. He walked over to the wall to examine one of the tapestries whilst Rogers set up the breakfast tray. He did watch from the corner of his eye as Rogers drew out a tray from the bottom of the bed and magical legs materialized under it. Harry watched with wonder, as though he had never known that magic could be used that way.

_That's another thing that could be fun, _Draco thought, and allowed himself to imagine sharing ordinary magic with Harry for long, blissful moments. There were numerous spells that the Malfoys used to make their lives pleasant and easy which wouldn't have been allowed at Hogwarts, for fear they would make the students lazy. He wanted to watch Harry's eyes brighten the first time he understood how easy it was to enchant dust away from important books, or sharpen the memory so that the sight of a beautiful sunset would stay fresh and clear within it always.

Then Draco saw Harry turning towards him, so he "allowed" himself to notice the absolutely straight covers of the bed and the unrumpled pillows. Frowning in mock concern, he asked, "Were the pillows not to your liking? Or the colors, perhaps? Whilst my mother chose a room she thought you would appreciate, we don't at all mind if you alter the colors of the covers and pillows. This is your room for the duration of your stay in the Manor."

Harry coughed a little, with that disgruntled sound most non-Malfoys used when they didn't realize they were coughing at all. "It's all beautiful," he said. "As it happens, I fell asleep in the library, working on several clues that I think might give me an insight into the curse plaguing your father."

Draco straightened and allowed some of his disappointment to show in his face. _Of course he was working. Of course. He doesn't think of anything else, he doesn't think he's _worth _anything else. What damaged him so badly? The world's expectations? _"So you would rather sleep in a library chair than in a bed my mother offers you?" he whispered.

Oh, how Harry flinched under that one! His eyes sought the bedroom floor, and he twitched as though a whip had stung him. "I—" he said, and then stopped for a moment, as though he had finally realized he was an idiot. But even if he had, the epiphany was unlikely to last, so Draco worked to drive it in.

"No, I think I understand." Draco made sure to give the smile that many people had mentioned made him look like Narcissa. Harry might have some reciprocal tenderness for her, since she understood him so well. "You can't believe we would give you something like this, can you? You're looking for the trick, the trap," and he remembered a tale he had read once that was not the artifact of wizarding culture, "the poisoned half of the apple. And my mother makes a convincing evil queen." He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. He had to overcome ancient scolding and Rogers's glare to make himself touch his hair in such a careless manner, but he managed it, and pride flushed him.

"You've read Muggle fairy tales?" Harry blurted. His eyes had grown wide with fascination.

"Let's say that even a book of those looks good when it's within reach and you're trying not to wake a sleeping baby in your lap," Draco said wryly, remembering the entire afternoon he had spent trying not to wake his baby cousin. Andromeda Tonks had agreed to let Draco come over and see small Teddy Lupin for a few hours, whilst reminding him sternly that she would snatch the baby away again if he cried out. Draco had rocked Teddy until his arms were numb before he fell asleep, and after that, he didn't dare shift just in case Teddy screamed and Andromeda turned him into something small and slimy. "I'll swear any oath you like that we're not trying to hurt you, though. What you did when you shared your blood with Father—it's special." _See, Mother? I am trying._

"I still don't really understand why." Harry folded his arms and seemed oblivious of Rogers's death glare. He didn't consider that stubborn gesture appropriate for a Malfoy, Draco knew. The glare had been enough to break Draco of the habit, but of course this was another way that Harry had to be the exception to the general rule. "If I'd used another spell that transferred my blood into his veins, would you have acted this way? Or is it only the Heart's Blessing Spell that's so special?"

Draco bowed his head and smiled. It was that or grind his teeth in exasperation until the enamel came off. "It's the blood," he said. "It's a symbol we can respect and appreciate. Without it, you can offer us many other favors and we would still have to keep you at a distance."

"Who says that?" Harry asked. "The Special Committee to Make Sure All Pure-Bloods Follow the Rules?"

"You would be surprised by the attempts there have been over the years to create organizations that approximate that one," said Draco, and again Harry blinked with curiosity. That was the way to ensnare him, Draco thought, keeping his gaze steady on Harry's face. Lead him with hints and traceries of information. If he explained as fully as his mother wanted him to, Harry would think he was being treated like a child. "But no, we're acting in accord with a sense of tradition. Stupid, perhaps, to not be able to respect ourselves without a sharing of blood, but there you have it.

"We're embattled in wizarding society, Potter, and have been for years." He shook his head, mostly in disgust at his slip in addressing Harry by his last name. "I know it seems otherwise, but a few powerful individuals placed in the Wizengamot and the Ministry are only enough to mask the reality, not change it. We have fewer and fewer families we can safely marry into if we want to keep our bloodlines pure. Many of the classes that taught our children what we needed them to know have been dropped from the Hogwarts timetables. More than the fair share of pure-blood criminals occupies Azkaban, when you consider what a minority we are in wizarding Britain. So we have to treat our homes as fortresses, and the rest of the world as enemies, or at best tentative allies."

_So much truth. _And it was so relieving to speak it aloud. Draco understood a state of war better than a state of love, but his parents knew all this, so it was another truth that went unspoken.

But too much silence might convince Harry he was hiding something, so he looked up and smiled. He made it as bright as he could, as delighted, and saw the way Harry's face opened towards him. _Love-starved. He must be. _

And a sneaking suspicion entered Draco's mind and lay down and made room for itself. He would not think of it much right now, in case it influenced his behavior in ways Harry was able to detect and took offense at, but he would remember it. Why was it that Harry had never mentioned or visited his Muggle family, at least not that the voracious press could find out about? Why did he seem to be wary of _normal _human contact, as well as the people who wanted to use him for his fame?

"You broke past those barriers in one of the few ways you could do so," Draco said, and felt as if his honesty was carrying him out over an eleven-thousand-foot drop, "by mingling your blood with ours and defending our family at the same time. The second says that you're a possible ally; that in combination with your blood makes you a part of the Malfoys."

_Can he ask for a clearer explanation than that? I don't think so._

"But look," Harry said, with strained patience in his voice, "that doesn't make sense. You can't—_adopt _someone because he offers you his blood."

"Yes, you can," Draco said, startled into speech. How did Harry think pure-blood families continued when there were no direct heirs left in a line? "In the old days, it was how pure-blood families conducted all adoptions. A freely-given gift of blood was precious, considering how much effort each family went through to keep the line pure and ensure that enough children survived for long enough to produce the next generation."

"But I did it accidentally."

Draco wanted to purr, or at least reach out and cradle Harry's face in his hands. _I don't want to destroy all his illusions. His innocence is delicious. _"That makes it better still. We can be sure you weren't scheming to win a place in the house or come closer to our fortune."

"But you don't really know me."

"We know what you did." Draco cocked his head to the side, wondering. Why wouldn't Harry think it reasonable to judge someone by his actions? That had been the basis of Harry's morality all his life, from what Draco knew of him. "That's enough. That's all that's important." He gave Harry another smile, and had to contain a chuckle of pure joy at the way his body swayed towards Draco. This form of seduction was both easier and more fun. "And perhaps you don't know us all that well either, hmmm?"

Harry smiled back as if charmed in spite of himself. Draco considered, then let his expression open. This honesty without assurance of an equal return was terrifying, but Harry's ignorance might protect Draco there, as well.

But the longer the mood lasted, the more of a chance Harry stood of figuring out that Draco wanted him more right now than Harry wanted Draco. That was an unacceptable vulnerability. Draco made his voice brisk. "At any rate, I'll escort you to my father's rooms after you finish refreshing yourself and eating. Are your notes available in the library?" He looked at the library room, but paused. These were Harry's rooms. It was for him to invite Draco further in, if he wanted to.

_In several senses of the word._

Harry shut his mouth and swallowed hard. "Some notations in the margins of the three books there, but I don't know how well you can understand them," he said, his tone prickly with expertise.

Draco smiled again. "I'll still make an effort. I _should _know more about healing than I do, given that I'll be a Potions master and healing potions are the largest percentage of any brewer's stock."

He slipped into the library, aware of Rogers making a muffled growl in his throat. Harry needed to eat and bathe, and Rogers was more than competent to handle that.

Besides, Draco needed to get out of that room for a moment. He was flying or falling or leaping when he spoke to Harry and showed his true emotions, and, family or not, he was simply not used to being surrounded with so much _truth._


	13. And Softness Endures

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirteen—And Softness Endures_

Draco bent over the book and tried to focus his eyes on the scribbled notes, but it was hard when he wanted to listen to the sounds of Harry in the loo.

He had gone there under protest, with Rogers practically herding him. It had made Draco want to laugh, but, now that he thought of it, this might be the saddest rejection of Malfoy gifts that Harry had performed so far. Maybe he had fallen asleep in the library intending no insult, and it was understandable that he wouldn't be used to beauties like his room contained when he had been living in that rattrap he called a house. But that a Healer wouldn't see the value of cleanliness, and superior cleanliness to anything that he could have achieved on his own—Draco found that deeply bewildering.

_Well. You have some time before he gets out of the shower to think about this. And he will hardly expect you to have learned all of the Healer's art in twenty minutes. _

Draco leaned back in the chair with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes on the ceiling, frowning as he considered. He had scattered hints about the cause of Harry's behavior: the fact that he did have reason to distrust the Malfoys based on their actions in the past, his mother's caution that Harry didn't understand as much of the pure-blood debts and blood connections as they wanted him to, the way he drove and poured himself into the needs of his patients, and the way he stared at Draco when Draco said some nice thing. But he didn't know the _source _of any of them. Maybe there was more than one source.

For a moment, Draco indulged himself in mental whinging. If there was only some kind of research he could do on Harry's background, the way he had researched the old _Prophet _to learn about his boyfriends and the way he'd left them! But he wouldn't trust the _Prophet _to get information about Harry's personal life right.

Then Draco paused. There might _still _be a path open to him. He didn't think he knew anyone who had that kind of information at their fingertips, no, and approaching Harry's friends would probably only result in a suspicious letter to Harry that would make him distrust Draco even more. But Lucius was still nominally a governor of Hogwarts—McGonagall hadn't bothered to remove him from the board after his name was cleared, though she no longer sought his advice—and even better, he had friends who were governors in good standing. It was possible that they might have access to students' personal records. And from those could be gleaned the name of Harry's Muggle family.

And from _that_, Draco thought he could come up with some way to contact the Muggles himself.

It would be the right thing to do, he thought, trying to ignore the image of Harry finding out and being furious. Of course the pure-bloods who learned the truth wouldn't question it; a former enemy who had the Boy-Who-Lived as a guest in his home would want to know as much as possible about his past, and would rightfully distrust the papers. And Draco didn't intend that anyone who wasn't a pure-blood, and therefore capable of a civilized level of understanding, would ever learn of this.

The water stopped flowing. Draco indulged himself again, this time in a picture of what Harry would look like stepping out of the luxurious shower in the loo. Water would crowd the back of his neck and drip down his spine, whilst the wet hair itself would curl and cluster and spring apart, not tame even then, and his skin would shine, and his eyes would spark if he caught Draco looking at him with desire—

Draco sighed and cast a spell that would subdue his erection. Then he gave Harry a few more moments of privacy to dry off and dress before he peeked around the entrance of the library back into the bedroom.

Harry was seated near the end of the bed, eating breakfast from the tray Rogers had left. His eyes were closed as he licked at the berries clotted with cream one moment, and then took a bite of buttered toast the next. Draco's eyes followed his tongue, of course, but what heartened him—and what he couldn't remember feeling with a lover before—was the notion that Harry was experiencing pleasure, even if that pleasure didn't come from sex and wasn't found in his company.

_I can feel like that if I want to, _he reassured himself, resisting the temptation to bristle at the vulnerability. _Harry's not like the others. He's permanent, and the alliance that binds us together will never dissolve._

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, and stepped into the bedroom. He'd made sure to take a book with him, so it would seem like he _had _been doing research,

He made a lot of noise, too, but Harry still let his eyes fly open and blushed as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Then he began to snatch his napkin and dab at his lips. Draco spoke in as soft a voice as he could manage, wanting to soothe him. "No, no. Your expression is so much more open when you're enjoying something."

Harry stared at him like a trapped animal, and Draco reckoned that he wouldn't be able to follow up any advantage with Harry right now. Instead, he sat down in a chair Rogers had conjured for him and tapped the book. "Your thought is that it's the Mirror Maze, right?"

"Not—exactly," Harry said. He pushed his food away from him. Draco frowned and was about to comment on that, but Harry had rushed ahead, as if a book existing in the same room with breakfast were impossible. "The spell I cast looking for _Mansuefacio_ might have revealed the presence of that Maze, and certainly would have found the presence of that same spell reflected, as the Mirror Maze ensures."

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand. I thought the Mirror Maze was just a group of spells woven around a person in a certain pattern and designed to trigger one another when the right commands were given." And he had thought that. He didn't mind admitting his ignorance in front of Harry when that ignorance concerned his father's life and Harry had been hired to remedy it.

Harry smiled, and Draco was certain he almost preened. There was a quiet satisfaction in his voice when he spoke. Draco thought he liked the chance to show off his knowledge. "No, that's the definition of a spell maze in general. There are different patterns. The Mirror Maze is named because it uses the same spells reflected and repeated rather than completely different ones. It can be devastating when the command to trigger is issued, because the victim receives double the power of that particular curse."

"I've never encountered anyone who could explain that so clearly." Draco made sure to look down at the book when he spoke the compliment, specifically so that Harry wouldn't think he meant to charm his way into Harry's good graces with it. He hid a smile when he practically _felt _Harry blink at him, and said, "What do you think it is if not the Mirror Maze, then?"

"The Mirror Maze turned sideways," Harry said.

Draco bit his tongue to choke back the impressed exclamation. No need to show Harry that he was actually cleverer at something than Draco was. But Draco had seen the diagrams representing the Mirror Maze in these books, and the mere thought of trying to imagine one turned sideways, and manipulate the patterns in the space of one's mind, dizzied him.

"That would conceal the presence of similar spells in your father's mind," Harry continued, his voice heavy. "And it would explain why the Permanency Spell on those particular wounds he had is so strong. I've been thinking about it, and it doesn't make sense that he should have severe injuries all over his body, even if part of the Mirror Maze's purpose is to hand control of his body's healing over to an enemy. At most, the ordinary maze should have reflected damage onto one particular part of his body, say the heart, like a lens focusing sunlight. Instead, we have wounds of almost equal severity all over the place. That would reflect a Mirror Maze turned sideways. There are similar cases in the literature."

"And that's more dangerous?" Draco couldn't help the way his voice and his shoulders tightened. After all, this was his _father _they were talking about.

"Yes, it is," Harry said. He had made his voice quieter. "It means that the maze can be bent in several directions at once, not only one, like a flexible lens. And until I can be sure of what the other spells in the maze are, I can't dissipate it."

Draco closed his eyes. He never would have dared show such weakness in front of most people he knew, but Harry was a member of the family, and not one who played scoring games in the way Narcissa and Lucius did. There was no safer person to show grief to—no safer human, at least, since none of the house-elves would tell on him, either.

A feather-gentle weight, but reassuringly solid at the same time, settled on his hand, and then on his shoulder. Harry was touching him of his own free will. Draco valued that more than the words that followed. "It's all right," Harry whispered. "It's going to be all right. I'm certain I can figure this out."

Draco opened his eyes and stared steadily at him. Yes, he had been thinking of what he could give Harry, and what Harry could give his father in the way of mediwizard magic, but right now, he was the one who needed the comfort. "I want to believe that," he whispered, "but I find myself faltering."

Harry smiled. Draco felt as though that smile might have given him the strength to face a dragon. "I know. It's because I'm not a full Healer, and I used to be your enemy. But I promise—"

_Idiot. _Draco felt rage streak through his stomach and throat like bile. "That's not it at all!" he snapped. "I just feel this way because he's my _father_, and someone _cursed _him, and we don't know _who._ You're part of us now, and that means I can believe you'll do a good job better than I can believe it of anyone in the world." He stood up in the circle of Harry's arms and leaned towards the right side of his face. He was angry and upset or he never would have done it, but later he thought he couldn't have made a better decision if he _was _thinking clearly.

He brushed a delicate kiss against the skin beneath Harry's ear, and then embraced him tightly, letting his head fall forwards so that his brow rested against Harry's shoulder. He felt Harry twitch once as if he would struggle, but in the end he gave in and held Draco firmly back.

Draco's tension drained away as he stood there, and he found the time to be faintly amused at himself. _Yes, you've smugly calculated all the ways that Harry needs the family, but you've never thought once about the ways you need him. He won't be your lover and the ally you've been dreaming of unless you respect his needs and charm him as well, remember._

He moved away when he thought himself safe to do so, gave Harry a smile of his own, and then picked up the parchment map he'd constructed. "Shall we?" he asked. His voice was smooth and sweet and normal. Narcissa wouldn't have been able to guess what happened if she had intruded just then. "I thought I'd escort you to visit Father the first time. And he'll want to hear from both you and me how you've spent the night."

"Why?" Harry asked, turning his head away as if to hide his blush. His hand rose, trembled towards the place Draco had kissed him, and then dropped again.

"In case I've noticed an addition to your comfort that could be made, which you haven't noticed yourself," Draco said. He felt a sort of joy at the way Harry was acting, both because it might mean that Harry was becoming more susceptible to flirtation and because he might start to realize he wouldn't escape from luxury. "We treat members of our family well, Harry. Now. Shall we?" He held open the door.

Harry followed him, after a small shake of his head. Draco continued to glance at him as they went along, partially to remind Harry that he wouldn't get out of answering questions about how he had slept and how he liked the Manor—

And partially for his own benefit, because he liked seeing Harry flushed like that.

Draco had to pause when he realized that. He couldn't remember the last time he had done something purely because he _liked _to do it.

* * *

Perhaps it would have been better if he had remained silent all the way to his father's bedroom. But they passed through a corridor no less beautiful than any other place in the Manor, though considerably higher, and Harry tilted his head back as if he needed to see the ceiling or die, and Draco couldn't resist the call of the stubborn, puzzled expression on his face.

"What's the matter?" Draco stepped towards Harry as he spoke, and almost whispered; he hoped to increase their intimacy that way. One way or another, it _was _going to increase. "You look a little overwhelmed, if you don't mind my saying so."

"I am," Harry said, and looked towards the invisible ceiling again. Only the height kept it invisible, Draco thought, not an illusion like the one in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but he didn't see why he should have to explain that. Couldn't Harry take _some _things on trust? "I've never been in a house like this before."

"Or certainly not this part of it, anyway," Draco said. Seeing the look on Harry's face and the way he moved away from Draco a moment later, he could have kicked himself. He hadn't meant to remind Harry of the time when he'd been a prisoner in the Manor and had to listen to Granger's screams as Bellatrix tortured her.

He wondered if he should bring up his own memories of suffering at Bellatrix's hands. Granted, she hadn't actually tortured him; she must have known that his parents would have found a way to extract vengeance. But she had cajoled him into casting Dark curses on prisoners that otherwise only the Dark Lord could make him perform, and stood off to the side, laughing in excitement, as he did so.

To this day, evil and madness appeared in Draco's imagination as the picture of a woman with long, heavy dark hair and heavy-lidded dark eyes, laughing like a buffoon in her excitement, whilst a Muggleborn woman curled and screamed in the middle of the floor like a crab dragged from its shell.

Draco shuddered and banished the memory. No, that was not the sort of thing he could endure sharing. When Harry finally trusted them and had let them see more of his weaknesses, then he would let Harry see into his heart like that. But for now, they had to maintain at least a simple position of strength relative to him. Otherwise, Harry would spend all his time thinking he had to heal _them, _and wouldn't see that he could rely on them instead.

He looked sideways, and decided that he might as well begin talking again. Harry had ceased to pay attention to the ceiling or to frown at him, and now was examining the walls with his head tilted and one eye squinted shut, as if he could discern from such peering how much the ornaments had cost. Draco bit his lip on the temptation to tell him that he could sit down with the family accounts the moment he felt comfortable enough doing so, and see exactly how much luxury they could afford and what kind he could live in for the rest of his days. Harry would probably think Draco was trying to bribe him again.

"Well," he said, approaching the subject most on his mind at the moment, "there's a difference between being overwhelmed and being uncomfortable."

"Assume it's the latter." Harry snapped the words, his eyes fixed ahead of them now, on the doors that ended this corridor.

Draco winced, and couldn't help but reach out and place a hand on Harry's arm. In the moment before Harry turned to face him, he had already decided to show his pain. He wouldn't mind rousing those damn Healer's instincts, even, as long as he got a straight answer out of the git.

"Why?" he whispered. "What have we done wrong, to make you fear and distrust us so much? We assumed our gifts spoke a universal language. You might not understand the significance of the Heart's Blessing spell to pure-bloods or the way that blood adoptions work, but we had thought you would know we wouldn't give you these things unless we wanted you to feel at home."

And really, he wanted to know, even though he was also looking for some answer to the question of why Harry refused those gifts at all. What language did they have to speak to convince Harry they meant no harm? What gifts would he _accept_? He had saved Lucius's life, shared his blood with them, and shifted his home to theirs. Draco knew the Malfoys had achieved a great triumph in the eyes of the world, but they also stood a chance of accumulating a debt they could not repay, at least if Harry continued to do everything _for _them. Draco needed a way to repay him.

He heard the sound of Harry's teeth grinding together, and braced himself for an angry outburst.

Then, incredibly, Harry bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I suppose I can't set aside the old enmity between us as easily as I thought I could. But the gifts do make me—uneasy. I've received gifts before that turned out to be attempts to buy my favor, or simply to put me into a position, by accepting them, from which there was no escape."

_These are different. He should know these are different. _Draco forced himself to stand in silence and look at Harry, his eyes wandering from those green ones to the lightning bolt scar on Harry's brow. He would snap something unfortunate if he spoke now.

But he could remember that, yes, people had been trying to buy the Boy-Who-Lived since the moment he appeared in the wizarding world. Lucius had been one of them, not so long ago. Was it any wonder that Harry would be wary of traps when someone offered him something he wanted or which looked desirable: beautiful rooms, a fully-stocked library and a loo that would actually clean him, a home?

_Does he feel that way about us, too? Has he ever known the love of a family? _Another idea for why Harry might distrust them had occurred to Draco, and he didn't like it. _What if he thinks a loving family is itself a bribe, because he's never been able to experience it? He might never trust us until and unless we can reassure him in some way that we really do care about him. _

Draco knew no way of doing that immediately. As Narcissa had said, Harry didn't understand the power dynamics of pure-blood families, which would have been the simplest way to express the new insights coming to Draco. But Draco _did _know that he couldn't stand to keep a distance from Harry right now, and for once he had someone who wouldn't calculate the effect of every touch and see some as a weakness. He reached out and curled a hand around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him closer.

Harry's eyes fluttered half-shut, and the blush that had been deepening over his face all this time grew deeper yet. Draco wanted to reach out and stroke the heated skin, feel it against the back of his palm. But he thought it might distract him from what he meant to say, and certainly Harry could take it as an unwanted sexual advance—because Harry was always doing things like that.

Instead, he contend himself with whispering, "I understand that, and I forgive you. But I think we'll get tired of repeating this before long, so you need to _listen_. The gifts we give you are meant to make you feel like part of the family. We wouldn't think twice of giving such things to one another." He paused, to give Harry some time to absorb the words. "Of course, we would hope that they were appreciated, and expect at least polite thanks."

Harry's throat jump. Once he clenched his jaw, and Draco suspected that he was again going to say something stupid. But in the end he gave his head a little bob and said, "All right. Thank you for the shower and the bedroom and the map and your friendship."

Draco's amusement came back and coiled through him, shining and cool and moon-silver. "More than just friendship," he said, and let Harry step back, nervous as a shying horse, within the limits of his embrace. He didn't want to let him go just yet. The longer he could keep him here, the bigger an impression he thought he would make on Harry, and the less likely Harry would be to forget it.

And, too, the longer he could stand near him, the longer he could watch the play of emotion on Harry's face and breathe in his scent.

Harry blinked "But—if we're family now, doesn't that mean we're brothers?" he asked. "So you wouldn't be interested in dating me?"

_Oh, no. We won't have any of _that _going on._

Draco let his barriers fall long enough to show Harry the desire he was restraining by not throwing him to the floor immediately. He looked down demurely a moment later, and moved so that his hands hovered an inch above Harry's skin. Harry shivered.

Draco bit his tongue on a groan. Yes, he could hold back those sounds and gestures, at least until he was sure that Harry wouldn't spook the moment he made them.

"There are other kinds of family love, Harry," he said. "My father and mother are part of the same family, and yet they aren't siblings." He tossed a smile at Harry, which made Harry blink and start yet again—_does he practice that specially, along with feeling bribed because he's the Chosen One?_— and then made himself leave behind Harry's body heat to start for the doors. "Now, my father awaits, and I'm sure he's wondering if we got lost after all. I can't know as much about this house as my parents do, since I've only lived in it twenty-six years."

Harry followed him, off-balance, hesitating, but intrigued. Draco concealed a triumphant snort. It was exactly the way he had managed to tame a great, skittish winged horse his father had been certain no one could ride.

_Feed him enough apples to sweeten him, let him run when he needs room to, and then make him wonder what sweeter things than apples might lie in my touch, and what the rewards of standing still might be._


	14. The Blooding

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Fourteen—The Blooding_

Lucius had arranged his room carefully to impress Harry and show him what he might expect of his new home. The Chosen One had had a deprived childhood, from what Lucius had heard through rumor, friends, and frustrated reporters who had tried to find solid facts before they resorted to making things up. The sight of luxury ought to strike him powerfully. Perhaps it would convince him of his importance to the Malfoys in the way that Lucius had given up hope of doing with rational argument.

So the colors of the windows and walls were brighter than usual, red and blue, glittering and radiant with light spells that hovered behind them and darted from place to place, subtly changing the angles of the shadows. So the bed had every accessory employed: the hands that ran up and down the sides of the sheets and the pillows smoothing them out, the mattress that listened to the conformation of Lucius's skin and bones and adjusted itself in response to any small groans of discomfort, the tables attached to the ends and sides that contained entertainments and delights such as Faerie wine and soft crumbling cheese made to a recipe lost to the Muggle world for centuries.

Lucius was content, though generally he preferred his room less busy, so that he could concentrate on one luxury at a time. This should surely show the Boy-Who-Lived that he could have beauty, good food, and comfort for the _asking_, where before he must have had to fight for it. Lucius had been doing some investigating of his own, writing letters and calling in old favors from allies who could do research on the Healer Virgo Emptyweed. From what he had learned, Harry's life under his reign would have been nothing short of torturous.

"And how are you today, sir?"

One look into Harry's eyes, and Lucius understood how he had miscalculated. Narcissa had been right after all. Harry didn't come to them as a political entity, someone who already understood the nuances of power and was bent on wringing all the means to it that he could from the Malfoys. He was too obviously trying to control the nervous darting of his eyes and his reactions, of either fear or distaste, when he looked at the moving parts of the bed and licked his lips.

"Very well," Lucius said, and threw away most of the planning that he had done for this meeting, though he would not banish the riches that surrounded him. That would be too obvious on his own part. "I understand that you have some doubts as to our hospitality." _Is that straightforward enough for you, Narcissa?_

Harry paused and blinked for a moment as he spread several of his parchments across the mahogany table that Lucius's father, Abraxas, had won from a ghost in a riddle contest. Then he shrugged and said, "Not as to your hospitality. I'm quite sure that all the luxuries you've chosen to offer me are genuine and made of real glass and crystal and gems. I have some doubts as to the _motives _behind it, of course."

_Ah._ Lucius felt a frisson of genuine pleasure. It was a long time since he'd had someone to teach the elementary lessons of subtlety to. Narcissa had come to his bed already knowing them, and Draco had absorbed most of them by the age of seven.

_My son, _he thought, gazing at Harry with an eye that he knew was proprietary, but which he doubted Harry would notice, _you have much to learn._

He decided to begin with a simple lesson, as well as the one most applicable to Harry's situation. "Motives may be double."

"Exactly what I'm afraid of," said Harry, apparently under the impression that Lucius was capable of going selectively deaf without reason, and then cast an interesting spell that drew Lucius's attention away from the conversation for a moment. It conjured a sheaf of parchment in front of him and then raced across the paper in glowing lines, binding together a complex diagram that looked like a spiderweb.

_Or a Mirror Maze. _Lucius held himself still, however, and did not let Harry suspect that he knew what the thing was. If Harry wanted to keep some professional secrets, then Lucius could hardly blame him—as long as they were not really secrets.

"Motives may be double without hurting either party involved," he said, elaborating the lesson. Of course, he knew it would still take Harry some time to grasp it. Manipulation was neutral in character, to be used for either advantageous or harmful ends, but Harry had grown up in a world that would have taught him to hate and fear it, no matter what. "Good" people were the ones who always followed an open and predictable course of behavior, which they called honest. Lucius had no real objection to honesty, of course, but it was an expensive weapon in the arsenal of a pure-blood family fighting for survival, and not one that the Malfoys had been able to afford in generations.

He wondered for a moment if he should introduce Harry to the notion that good and evil were a matter of perspective—and whether they happened to people inside or outside the family—and then decided, reluctantly, that it was a bit early for that yet.

"I am less convinced of that," Harry said. "And in any case, we're supposed to discuss your health, and not a philosophical debate." He nodded to the glowing lines. "Do you recognize this, sir?" he asked, retreating into formality.

"One may do more than one thing at once, as you have just demonstrated." Lucius squinted at the glowing lines, to give a convincing demonstration of ignorance, and then laughed. Give him too much room to suspect so, and Harry might decide Lucius was stupid. That would be disastrous for many reasons. "You mean to insult me by suggesting I will not recognize a Mirror Maze, Mr. Potter? And so far, you had been so careful never to seem insulting."

He saw a brief flicker of amusement and surprise cross Harry's eyes, but he squashed it at once, apparently thinking it would be unprofessional for a mediwizard to respond to a patient's banter in a patient's home. _A pity, that, _Lucius decided. _I think he has spent far too long repressing useful and interesting parts of himself._

"Not insult you," Harry said. "There's a difference between an insult and a direct question that simply asks for information. If I had said that I suspected you of trying to trap me, get me used to luxuries, draw me into admiration for your way of life, and only then reveal the hook behind the rich bait, then I would be insulting you. But I haven't said that in a definite declarative sentence, have I? Those words exist only in a hypothetical one."

_So he is not repressing it so much as measuring it. _Lucius could not help the edge of joy to his smile, though he knew Harry would not understand. That won a smile from Harry in return, but it drained away quickly. He was staring at Lucius's face, which Lucius _knew _was calm and emotionless again, as if he had seen a crocodile grin before it charged him.

_I pity my other son, _Lucius thought. _I had thought courting Narcissa was hard, but next to this challenge…_

Harry coughed and glanced back at the parchment. "I believe that you have a Mirror Maze on you," he said, "but not the traditional one, or the damage would have been severe on only one part of your body, as it was not." He flicked his wand, and the imaginary parchment turned sideways, bearing the Mirror Maze with it. Lucius admired the control behind his movements; it was good to know that they could depend on Harry to wield his magic with skill in the events of a battle with an invading family, no matter _what _toothless spell he had used to defeat the Dark Lord. "This is what you have." Another flick of his wand; this time, the Maze acquired a third dimension, and the appearance of a faceted lens. Lucius imagined the many points that would allow his enemy to aim at on his body, and respect trembled inside him. He would rather be hunted by someone clever than someone stupid; a stupid enemy would imply too great a contempt for Lucius's own intellect. "Unfortunately, I still can't dissipate it until I know for certain what spells compose it."

_Time to challenge him. He is skilled, he has finesse, he has power. He should have made more advances than he has, and he must be dragged through those steps if he will not take them himself. _"Do you have any more ideas, Harry? Given your skill, I expect that you should."

"I do," said Harry, and bent his head stiffly away. Did the thought of high stakes frighten him so much? Lucius wondered at that. Of what quality was Harry's courage? Was he only brave in the defense of others, tight-strung when questioned on his own account or challenged to prove himself? It would explain, perhaps, why he had remained a mediwizard. There was a certain amount of safety in a low position. "I know that _Mansuefacio _is part of it, and the Cutting Curse and the Permanency Spell. Probably also a Replication Charm, to make the same wounds appear in many places at once. And a spell that maps your body, so that whoever controls the maze can study it at all times and know your vulnerabilities at a glance."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. Time for a mild lie; the last thing he wanted was to make Harry feel inadequate. "I have never heard of such a spell." _I at least have not heard of this application, _he added mentally, to appease the shade of Narcissa, who wanted complete honesty, in his head.

"I've used it several times." Harry sighed. "Whoever made this maze has Healer training."

"Ah." Lucius gripped the blanket the way he would have liked to grip the shoulders of his mysterious enemies, in admiration—and in the moments before he cast the Cutting Curse that would open their throats. "Then perhaps the mystery of your stabilization fields disappearing is not such a mystery after all. Could the person controlling the maze have dissipated them from inside me?"

Harry shook his head. "If they could, they would also have removed the stabilization field on your chest," he said. "I think that was an attack from outside, but I'm afraid I have no suspects yet."

"Mmmm." Lucius performed an intense stare. _If he will not think of it himself, I must suggest it._ "Suppose that you perform a spell which will enable you to see the magic making up the rest of the maze?"

Harry blinked. "Such magic exists, of course," he said. Lucius bit his tongue to avoid saying something like _I am glad you realize that much, _which would rather ruin the delicate mood of the moment. "But it's classed as an invasion of privacy."

"By whom?" _Consider who makes the rules, Harry. Then consider whom _they _are seeking to benefit, as well as those whom the rules benefit in reality._

"The St. Mungo's authority, and independent Healers, and everyone who teaches mediwizardry," said Harry, his eyes widening. He stared at Lucius. "We're taught the incantation for use in emergency situations, but we're not supposed to—"

"You're my private Healer now," Lucius said. _Yes, I must do everything._

"Mediwizard."

"Such distinctions matter less than usual when we are talking about family," Lucius said. "You are a Malfoy. If you would consent to change your last name, you would be one of us perfectly." He could not help imagining that. The political statement that the Chosen One's changing his last name would make…it would _force _acceptance of the Malfoys by most of those who had rejected them.

But of course Harry had set his forehead into ugly lines and was opening his mouth, and Lucius understood. He would be loyal to his surname as the last member of his family line. Lucius thus added, "Cast the spell, Harry. I wish to see what it reveals."

Harry licked his lips. "I might get it wrong."

_Where is his self-confidence? How did he become a mediwizard in the first place, in fact, if he always thinks of the consequences first? _"Have you got anything else wrong so far?" Lucius lay there on the pillows and tried to look relaxed and confident enough for the both of them.

"You don't understand," Harry said, and looked as if he would bury his head in his hands, except that that might cause a confidence crisis in his patient. "I'm not good at spells that require intense concentration, unless fear pushes me past the moment when I'd hesitate. I'll fumble and mess it up. It would be better if I just went on studying until I could recognize the spells that comprise the maze from watching their effects on the spells I already know."

"You _do_ have a self-confidence problem," Lucius said. _Bluntness is my only weapon against thickness like this. _"How fortunate that I have the cure for such a problem in my possession, and have used it several times over."

"If it's a spell—"

"Of course not," Lucius said, and gentled his voice, which still earned him a glare. _If you act like a child, my son, you will be treated as such. _"It's the doing of things that you don't think you can do, and doing them well. Now. Cast the spell. You know the incantation. Do you think you'll mess up the incantation?"

"No!" Harry's eyes were wide and aflame.

"Do you think your magic isn't powerful enough?" Lucius raised his eyebrows. Harry actually took a step forwards, as if the academic interest in Lucius's voice offended him more than all the scoldings in the world. Well, that had been Lucius's intention, after all; he _was _delighted to find his new son so wonderfully responsive, but not surprised.

"No!"

"Then what do you think is the problem, precisely?" Lucius tilted his head and examined Harry carefully, as if he were looking for the flaw that held him back, some visible sign of his weakness on his skin. He knew he would find none—in fact, if he had been younger, and if Narcissa and Draco had not existed, and if his tastes had swung to men, and if he had been sure that his patience would hold out through the wooing, he might have courted Harry himself—but it accomplished its goal of infuriating Harry.

"You're trying to heal me," Harry snarled, aiming his wand, "and I'm the one who should be healing you. _Patefacio omnium!_"

Blue light eclipsed Lucius, brilliant forks that stabbed down around the bed like the beginning of a storm. Lucius lifted his head and gave Harry a satisfied smile, because only when he began to realize that he was being outmaneuvered would he become an expert at outmaneuvering others.

Harry quivered like an offended horse, his breath streaming in and out of widely-flared nostrils, and then turned to study the pattern. Lucius eyed it sideways; it was too brilliant to look at with comfort full-on. (No wonder that Harry, who always denied himself every comfort, stared at it without blinking).

But it imitated the flexible lens of the Mirror Maze that Harry had already conjured for him, and beside its lines appeared the names of the spells. Lucius sighed and clucked his tongue. Once again, the Ministry had classified an eminently useful spell under the name of illegal magic. He would have to remember this spell himself, so that he could use it on his enemies.

* * *

Draco saw Harry squinting at the web, and one spell in particular, and he was drawn nearer irresistibly. He had tried to keep out of the way whilst his father engaged Harry; he had seen, from the moment he stepped into the room, the amount of preparation that Lucius had put into encouraging certain reactions from Harry, and he would not have interrupted them. He was satisfied with the place his own courting of Harry rested for now.

But this was something he could help with, and so he could hardly allow it to pass.

"_Volnero_," he murmured into Harry's ear, and Harry only tilted his head back to him, instead of leaping like a startled deer. Hardly daring to breathe at this evidence of trust and success, Draco lifted a hand so that it hovered above Harry's shoulder. "That's 'I cause pain' or 'I wound.' A more complicated and nastier version of the Cutting Charm, which can also be used on objects instead of people. _Hebeto_. Dark magic, plain and simple. It's meant to imitate a death caused by wasting disease." He looked past Harry's shoulder at Lucius—still alive, still aware, in spite of it all, in spite of everything—and his own voice froze. "I don't understand why they would bother with that one, when they meant to kill my father in an obvious way."

"It'll have something to do with the way it's bound into the other spells," Harry murmured. He reached out as if he would stroke the strand marked _Hebeto_, and Draco suppressed his ridiculous impulse to be jealous of a spell_. _"See the way it thickens at the end where it runs into the Body-Mapping Charm? I wouldn't be surprised if that means—"

"It's meant to deaden areas of his body, instead of the whole thing," Draco said, as his mind leaped. "Another meaning of _Hebeto_ is 'I deaden.'"

"Exactly," Harry said, a slight stiffness in his voice. _Is he jealous that I'm taking his territory away? _Draco turned his head and sniffed lightly at the skin behind Harry's ear. _I cannot be to my father what Harry is to him, and he should know that._ "And in turn that might make the detection of small wounds or vulnerabilities more difficult. I wonder—"

His father screamed.

Draco would never forget the ice spears that jammed down his spine, or how he turned to face the bed, terrified and helpless. Harry was already moving, his wand rising, and to him all Draco's confidence suddenly clung.

Lucius arched off the bed, his hands stabbing the air. Draco swallowed, mouth gone cold and dry. He would have Summoned his father's enemies within range of his crooked fingers, if he could have.

And then he wished for healing more than vengeance, as cuts began to open on Lucius's arms and chest that he recognized. Harry had once used _Sectumsempra _on him. Someone was using it on his father now.

And around his face—yes, a curse Draco knew for the Scalper's Curse was opening there, lines of bloody foam circling relentlessly about his forehead and cheekbones. Draco had seen Bellatrix use that enough times, and cradle the torn-off, limp faces of her victims in both hands, crooning at them.

Draco didn't know the countercurses. He had no memory of the spell that Severus had cast to heal him from _Sectumsempra_, and as far as he knew, there was no single counter for the Scalper's Curse.

He looked to Harry, his defense and support right now, and found a frown printed across his face. Then it cleared, but Draco distrusted the light that took the darkness's place in his eyes, because he had seen that light before, when Harry was preparing to do something incredibly stupid that would hurt him but save other people.

And then, Harry began, "_Sacrifici—_"

Draco knew the spell. Draco _knew. _Harry was going to kill himself so that Lucius could live.

The reaction was as instinctive as it would have been had Draco seen his mother about to walk off the edge of a building or his father going, drunk, to confront the Wizengamot. He punched Harry's hand, nearly knocking his wand spinning and utterly shattering the spell. Harry, perhaps used to such distractions, maintained his hold on the wand, but spun around with a scream of, "What the fuck are you _doing_?"

"Not like that," Draco said, and he couldn't care about the roughness in his voice. "Family members save each other. They don't sacrifice their lives for one another unless they can't help it, because that diminishes the size and power of the family."

_So simple. I know Mother said he really doesn't understand, but he has to. He _has _to. How could he think that he was less important to us than Lucius?_

"That's the only way to stop this!" Harry whirled away again. His gaze was still on Lucius, always on him. And Draco knew, then. Harry hadn't thought that Narcissa and Draco would rejoice to have Lucius alive whilst not grieving over him. He had thought only about rescuing a patient. Lucius was the same as any other patient to him.

Draco felt an awed humbleness tug at him for a moment. He had been wrong to suppose that Harry would ever treat Lucius with less care than he should because of their past.

But he couldn't give way to the humility, because along with that emotion came a great and overwhelming irritation. The spells had not finished killing Lucius yet. There was still another way, and if Harry resisted this Draco would _cut him in half _and owl the halves to Lucius's enemies as soon as he discovered their names.

"Not like that," he hissed into Harry's ear. "Like _this._"

He wrapped his arms around Harry and bowed his head.

The call he sent out was one he had known how to give for years, but which Lucius had made him swear never to use unless he was bereft of choices. It was dangerous, and if performed in front of someone who was not part of the family, it could betray key Malfoy strengths. But Draco knew of no case more desperate or justified than this one.

He called, and the sound of his voice, silent and powerful as a prayer, opened a gate from the physical world into the mental one. Draco felt a hole open in his memory the way it did when he wished to retain facts about potions: a hard, clear, grasping space that would never let what passed into it out again. A similar hole opened in his spirit, and Draco shivered. That felt like a twinge around his heart, a sensation he had never experienced before.

Then he became conscious of the beat of his heart, the pumping of the blood that was the shared bond between the Malfoy family and the shared secret of this special magic. He concentrated on it, forcing it to the front of his awareness, calling again and again, feeling the hard clear space in his mind open wider and solidify at the same time, like a box with a lid tilted above it.

And he knew from the pause and the flow of his blood, the two hammering beats his heart gave, that similar spaces were opening in Harry's mind and spirit, and in Lucius's.

Draco opened his eyes. The room was vivid with crimson light, beating in time to the hearts it had come from. Draco could have smiled, but he didn't want to spare the attention. There was still the chance that Harry would mess everything up with his stubbornness. Draco pulled Harry closer still and aligned the open space in his mind with the open space in Harry's.

He poured through determination, in a glittering cascade; he received back confusion, heavy as sand, and wonder like sunlight, and an answering determination. That was all the permission Draco needed to clench his hands on Harry's chest and force him to release his breath. The breath mingled with the crimson light from their hearts, as Draco had known it would, and the resulting cloud ascended into the air like a phoenix and then crossed the distance between them and their father.

Draco stared, wanting to make sure the magic had actually succeeded. And then he saw it settle on his father's wounds like a vampire, and knew it had. The Dark magic, visible here and there as an uncomfortable twitch to the air and a quiver like the darkness between the stars, flowed out of the wounds, and the fresh blood Lucius had shed rolled up in a scatter of droplets from his chest and hands and face and back into the wounds.

_Malfoy blood is precious, _Lucius had drilled Draco from the earliest days of his childhood. _It must not be mingled with that of Mudbloods, and it must not be lost. _

This magic, like all the other spells that belonged to the Malfoys alone, was meant to preserve that blood. Draco swirled his excitement, dancing like sparks of dust in sunlight, through Harry's mind, so that he would not sense the hint of relief that lurked beneath the brighter emotions.

And then Harry forced more of his power into the spell through his clutch on Draco's arm and the nearness of their hearts to one another, because of course he could never be still.

Draco gasped, and so did Lucius. That was less because of the power of the magic, however, which Draco felt blast through him and into the spell, and more because of the red and silver world Harry had deposited them in, the world of their minds and spirits.

_Harry _was there, an angular shape green as lightning. Draco could see the whole glittering pattern of his soul, rich and wild and wonderful and generous as a spreading forest. He understood, for a moment, the revelation ripping through his hands like a great branch, what it might be like to want to heal someone outside his own family. Lucius did the same thing, and Draco could feel his father's satisfaction, rearing like an unbroken horse.

The silver and crimson cloud traveled past them then, hauling the Dark magic with it. It contained the magic, safely, in the holes that had opened in their minds and souls, because spells meant to affect the body could not affect _those. _Gradually, the holes would shut, the boxes tightening and fading out of existence, and the Dark magic would be crushed utterly.

A thought of Harry's whispered past him. _It was as if evil had been exiled from the world and love had replaced it. _

"You should be familiar with the process," Draco murmured into his ear. "That was the way your own mother saved you, wasn't it?" He began to caress Harry's waist, feathering his fingers against the skin, and thought that Harry could break free when he wanted.

Harry's head lolled back trustingly instead, and more thoughts stormed through his mind and slipped into the open place in Draco's, which was becoming smaller all the time. None of his other lovers had ever tried to learn about Healing magic. None of them had ever _participated _in the process the way that Draco had tried to.

_More fools they, _Draco thought, and smiled at Harry, who was looking up at him now, eyes as bright as his soul. He trailed a finger down to the corner of Harry's jaw, and his own breathing sped up. He wanted to take Harry now, in wonder and joy and the need of two bodies thrusting together, seeking celebration of the marvelous experience they'd just been through.

Harry stared back, eyes wide and uncertain, and Draco heard the last fading flicker of his thoughts. Harry understood the lessons Lucius had been trying to teach him. He had accepted that, perhaps, the Malfoys wanted to help him at the same time as they wanted to help their family.

He pulled away in the next moment, and Draco let him go, because he knew it was not time to push yet. And he asked a question about Healing, which let Draco smile anyway, even with the tiny physical space between them. "How did you do that?"

"How did _we_ do that," Lucius said, softly but insistently.

Harry hesitated, then inclined his head. "How did we do that?"

Lucius smiled at him. Draco encircled Harry's body lightly with his arms again, and felt him shiver with pleasure at the smile. "Blood magic," Lucius said. "We pay a large price for our intense devotion to family before all else, but we receive a few gifts from it, too. Our blood can hold and contain foreign danger, just as it can embrace the foreigner when it's shared. And in this case it pushed the Dark magic out of the blood—out of the body—into a place where it can be destroyed more easily. Our magic and our minds, if you will." He frowned and made a small movement with one hand. "The parallel is not exact, but it is roughly true."

_True enough, Father. _Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Lucius thought Harry could not understand concepts so abstract, when he had just been through the process himself and had more training than most full Healers.

Harry nodded. And then he would have dropped straight to the ground if Draco hadn't caught him.

"Why am I so tired?" he muttered, his head lolling back on Draco's shoulder again. Draco curved one arm around his waist and blinked at Lucius.

"I don't know," Lucius said. "That magic should not have been a drain on anyone who got a full night's sleep."

"He didn't," Draco said sharply. "He slept in a chair for most of the night, and only a few hours at that. He was up most of the night researching. He neglects his own health most disgracefully, Father. We shall have to do something about that."

And Harry was asleep, then, and Draco was the only one supporting him.

It was an office he would gladly have held, for always.

He ducked his head and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Harry's hair, before he caught Lucius's eye. He nodded, understanding the demand in that gaze without words. He would take Harry to his room, and then return, so that he and Lucius could talk about how to handle their recalcitrant Potter.


	15. Narcissa's Certainty

Thank you again for all the reviews! This chapter is a bit shorter than normal, because it consists of scenes that weren't in the original story, and I didn't want to trim one of the original scenes at an unnatural stopping point.

_Chapter Fifteen—Narcissa's Certainty_

Narcissa was opening her mouth to compliment Eleanor Greenbriar on the décor of her drawing room and ask whether she might be permitted to look at the rooms upstairs when Lucius's voice struck her like a spear to the side of the head.

_Come home at once. We have something to discuss concerning Harry._

The words were gone in moments, but Narcissa's sharp gasp had been enough to alert Eleanor. A strong-featured woman with blue eyes that Narcissa envied for their piercing color—though of course Eleanor would never know of that envy—she leaned forwards and stared hard. "What is the matter?" she asked. "Is the tea not to your liking?" The tea was exquisite, of course, and she knew it. In the back of her voice was a soft, delighted purr that came from catching Narcissa off-guard.

"The tea is wonderful," said Narcissa, and lowered the cup to the table. She had spilled a few drops, she saw to her disgust, spattering the side of her hand. Lucius would _pay._ She remained a moment longer with her eyes on her hand, as if contemplating the nonexistent burns the liquid had inflicted on her skin, and then looked up. "I have—I have received news that I did not wish to tell you."

"Received news?" Eleanor's eyebrows crept further up her face. "Strange. I saw no owl fly to you." The purr grew stronger. No doubt she imagined that Narcissa would be compelled to confess some Malfoy family secret now. The existence of the telepathy between the Malfoy spouses was surely suspected outside the family, for all that the Malfoy ancestors of the past had been careful with it.

_But never careful enough, _Narcissa thought, and wished she could have aimed the thought like an arrow at her husband. She sighed, barely letting the sound escape through parted lips, keeping her face like a mask. "It is the _absence _of an owl that alerted me to the news," she said. "My son should have sent me a letter by now, proclaiming that my husband had abandoned an unsuitable—liaison—he had formed for himself. I wanted to read that letter, and receive it, in front of witnesses. That it has not come tells me Lucius still errs." She lowered her eyelashes again, watching the motion of Eleanor's hands intently. Few people realized that one could tell as much by the hands as by the face, assuming one was reading the right kind of person. "I had lost track of the time, and then I remembered it, and it was—as you see." Once again, she gestured to the drops of tea on the back of her hand, only now picking up a napkin to blot at the liquid.

Eleanor was full of compassion mingled with glee; it twisted white lines across the back of her knuckles. Narcissa could have given her lessons in composure, but the Greenbriars had been connected to the Dark Lord by means of financial support, even if none of them had been Death Eaters, and Narcissa did not consider her enough of an ally to merit the lessons. "He is supposed to keep to his bed, and still he chases another woman?" Eleanor gestured at the line of Narcissa's throat and hair. "When he has _you_?"

"Yes," said Narcissa, rising to her feet. "And now I must deal with my straying husband. There are truths he has too long forgotten." It was no effort at all to let her voice chill on those last words, considering how angry she was at Lucius at the moment.

Eleanor licked her lips, a habit of hers when she was swallowing a delicious tidbit of gossip she meant to spread around as soon as possible. It was another fault that Narcissa's lessons might have cured her of, and which Narcissa would never alert her to the existence of.

Narcissa turned away with a snap of her skirts. She had created the impression that Lucius was stronger than had been reported, strong enough to chase a lover, which would hinder some of their enemies in case they plotted to attack Malfoy Manor now, and confound those who had cast the curse in the first place—

And she had created a problem for Lucius to deal with and clear up, shifting the blame for her weakness from herself to him.

_It is the least you deserve, _she addressed her husband, and walked outside the Greenbriar wards, and Apparated.

* * *

His mother had arrived home by the time Draco returned to his father's room. She was straightening from a kiss she had placed on Lucius's cheek. Her face was so pale that Draco was certain she had spoken sharp words.

Lucius didn't look less confident than usual, but then, he had just survived a near-fatal bout with the curse. Draco didn't think he would lose composure over a few harsh words from Narcissa.

He closed the door and cast a locking ward, causing Lucius's brows to rise. "I have Rogers watching Harry," Draco answered the look. "But still, Harry has been known to do unexpected things. In case he _does _manage to wake up and get here unnoticed to check on his patient, I wanted to ensure he couldn't hear us." He looked at Narcissa. "Father told you what happened?"

"He did." Narcissa said no more than that, but Lucius flinched back into his pillow. Draco blinked. He wondered for a moment if the relationship he would have with Harry someday would be like that, and if he wanted it to be.

Draco nodded. "He has the capacity for the blood magic," he said. "He was the reason Lucius survived, so he has saved my father's life not once but twice. He is deserving of honor, but he doesn't _feel _he is. What are we going to do to ensure that he doesn't kill himself trying to save Lucius, or someone else, once Father is well?"

"Do you truly feel that's a danger?" Lucius folded his hands under his chin and tried to look wise.

Draco caught his mother's eye, and barely kept from rolling his own. His father was a strong, proud man, the symbol of the line of Malfoy right now as their current patriarch, and Draco cared for him more than he could ever acknowledge openly, especially now that his life was in danger. But since the curse had caught him, Draco found himself seeing his father's faults more often. Lucius was less clever than he thought, less subtle than he thought, and more inclined to doubt the word of those he should trust above all others. Draco didn't want to change him, but it would have been pleasant if he could have forced him to shut up for a time.

"I do," Draco said. "It's a wonder he hasn't died already." He hesitated, groping for words to explain what Harry was in such a way that Lucius would respect it, instead of merely thinking it silly. "Father…Harry wants to pour all of himself down an enormous well for as many people as need it. He doesn't think about the future, about the people who love him as separate entities. They're just more people he can serve. And I don't think he acknowledges the Malfoy claim at all. He thinks of making sacrifices for us, but we're not special."

"Can anyone be special to him, with that kind of mindset?" Lucius slumped back against the pillows. His face had aged whilst Draco was speaking. Draco blew a low breath through parted lips. Maybe there was something to be said for a near-death experience in convincing his father to still his wagging tongue.

"We can," Narcissa said, her blue gown shifting and shining in the lights from the lamps and the enchanted windows, "if we offer him something that no one else has, not even the Weasleys." She paused, glorying, Draco knew, in the curious eyes of her husband and son fastened on her. "A sense of home, of permanent belonging. With people who _understand _him." Her glare took in Draco and Lucius impartially.

"I'm starting to!" Draco said, and a snap of anger worked its way across his voice like ice breaking before he could stop it. "Who just explained his psychology to you in convincing terms?"

"More than that," said Narcissa. "We must learn to ensure that he understands us. The man you have described, and the man I truly believe Harry Potter to be, will not regard us as anything special if he is merely ordered to open his heart to us. He will give us his service and reserve his personal regard. We would be no more than the newspaper reporters, importuning him for some personal fact whilst not making themselves vulnerable in turn."

Draco blinked at her. "I _do_ plan to show him emotion," he said. "I plan to show him all the intimacy he desires. More than he could desire."

"I will do the same." Lucius's voice had a catch in it for only a moment. Then it firmed. "It will be a pleasure to teach the boy, Narcissa. He is so lacking in subtlety as to make almost a divine student."

_More suited to you than you will ever know, Father, _Draco thought, and his mother's glance and his crossed like paired swords.

Narcissa slowly shook her head. "You flirted with him at first, Draco, remember?" she asked him. "He is likely to distrust merely an offer of sex. As he will distrust lessons in actions he considers evil."

Lucius folded a hand a touch too heavily on the blankets in front of him. "Then what _can _we give him?" he asked. "If not our presence and our kindness and our secrets? There is no other way to show vulnerability in return for his vulnerability that I know of."

"We will give him our anger," said Narcissa. "Our irritation. Our impatience. Our explanations. Our fears. All the emotions that he is accustomed to soothing." She lifted her head and fastened her eyes on Draco. "But _with _that come our strengths. We cannot simply show him those, or he will consider us invulnerable behind a polished and gleaming surface, in no need of his sacrifices, and nothing to do with him. And we cannot only show him need; he will serve us then, but he will not come to love us. The combination of strengths and weaknesses, of _truths_, is what will win him."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. He had never done as much with any of his lovers, because he understood the power dynamics of relationships too well. Someone needed to be the caretaker and defender, someone the yielding one. Draco had played both roles in his time, though he enjoyed the more protective role more, and played them both supremely well. One could maintain control of a lover in either position.

Narcissa was asking him to give up playing the role, to act as Harry did, and pretend the dynamics didn't exist.

"We'll seem unnatural," he muttered, voicing the rebellion that he could see in the back of his father's eyes. "Isn't he likely to distrust that more than anything else we can do, and think we're hatching some evil plot?"

"We'll seem natural for the first time in our lives, because we won't be perfectly in control," Narcissa corrected him. Her face was shining with serenity. Draco wished for a moment that he had her confidence, and then reconsidered. He was not at all sure he wished to live in the world his mother's insight regularly led her to. "He'll notice the contradictions and the cracks. He'll realize, eventually, that we're letting him into our hearts. And that, I think, is all he has ever asked."

"But that's what the Weasleys gave him," said Lucius. "Our gifts will not be unique. How are we to win him if they aren't?"

"The Weasleys had too many children to give Harry the amount of attention he deserved." Narcissa managed to speak the words without condemnation, which was more than Draco could have done. "And he was not bound to them by blood. He is to us." Abruptly, she smiled, and Draco couldn't remember seeing her put so much warmth in the expression before. "I assure you, give Harry Potter the merest idea that he could belong to us by blood, really belong, and he will snap it up."

Draco tapped one hand against the inside of his other arm, frowning. He wanted to doubt his mother, but she seemed so sure, and in any case, he wasn't really in the habit of doubting her. Maybe it would work, if she was sure it would. Her will had changed the world before, more often than the world knew it had; the incident in the Forbidden Forest where she had saved Harry's life by lying to the Dark Lord was only the most visible.

"Narcissa." Lucius was the one who spoke with the stubbornness dripping from his tones that Draco had wanted to voice, but not to his mother. "You must give me your word that this will work. I will not expose myself otherwise."

Draco bit his lip. Merlin, he was getting as bad as Harry. When his father said "expose himself," it was an undignified image that entered his head, rather than the solemn one that should have plagued him, that of the head of the Malfoy family giving up all his secrets and receiving nothing in return.

"I am certain," said Narcissa. "Would that you were as sure of the necessity before you undertook one of your impulsive actions."

From the way Lucius flushed, Draco was sure something unspoken and unknown to him lay between his parents—perhaps whatever they had been talking about before he returned to the room. But the next moment, Lucius dropped his chin, and Draco thought it was beautiful, and a gesture of love, how completely his father committed himself to this plan on Narcissa's say-so.

"I will give Harry a place in the secrets of my heart and allow him to see my weaknesses, then," he said.

Draco nodded when Narcissa looked at him. His throat felt tight and full with an emotion that crowded the line between fear and desire.

* * *

So he lay in the bed with Harry and watched him sleep, something he wouldn't have dared do only yesterday. It would reveal too much of himself, how deeply and desperately he craved for Harry to lie beside him of his own free will. Now, thanks to the plan that said he had to reveal himself whether or not he wished to, he could actually do it.

And it had been—

_Stunning _was so slight a word.

Harry had arranged himself, as if by instinct, so that he was crowded into one corner of the massive bed. Even asleep, he had to leave room for other people, Draco thought, exasperated. Then he wondered if that was less the result of self-sacrifice and more the result of Harry's habit of sleeping with other men, and for a time jealousy stalked up and down his body, playing the keys of his spine.

That had lasted until Harry turned and cuddled himself into Draco with a little sigh, slinging one arm halfway around his shoulders and draping a leg over his hip.

Draco held himself still, eyes half-shutting. Harry shifted, and his leg fell and trailed down so that it rested almost between Draco's thighs—would have rested, if Draco had shifted a bit himself—instead of over his hip. His face was softened and flushed with sleep when Draco gazed at it, his lips so slightly parted that they begged a kiss, his free hand sprawled up beside his head with the palm open and the fingers curled as trustingly as a baby's.

Draco had never known sexual desire as fierce as the wish, in that moment, to stoop down and kiss Harry on his mouth.

But doing so might wake him, and Draco didn't want to do that. He simply wanted to lie still and listen to the pace of his breathing, to feel his warmth, to let his mind drift through lazy imaginings of what would happen when they regularly shared a bed this way.

To think about what would happen should Harry plunge his leg between Draco's thighs with intent.

His cock hardened, but as gently as Harry breathed. Draco lay with it an inch or so away from Harry's skin, and continued to listen to his gasps and mumbles, to watch the way his lips twitched, to study the curls of his hair and try in vain to find the same wildness in the way his lashes lay along his skin.

This was more about love than arousal.

The moment he understood that, Draco shuddered hard enough to make Harry's knee slip to the bed again. Even that didn't wake Harry, or disturb his cuddling with Draco. He ducked his head instead and pressed it into Draco's chest, uttering a wordless, contented sound, a Crup puppy finding a dark corner under its blanket to hide.

His chest aching with his held breath, Draco reached up and trailed a hand through Harry's hair, not touching the scalp itself. He concentrated on the feel of the curls instead, and the way they rustled and rasped against his skin.

His imagination had not been equal, after all, to the way it would feel.

Draco felt a great wash of helplessness. He wanted to curl himself around Harry and hold him there, safe from all harm, and he _knew _he couldn't. He would have to let him get out of the bed and go into danger—fighting Lucius's enemies, spending himself to heal, injuring himself in the pursuit of self-sacrifice.

This was the hard part about showing the truth to Harry, he thought. It made him feel weak instead of strong, where emphasizing his strengths at least might impress Harry and comfort himself.

But there were a few things he could do to mitigate the harm and help to protect Harry. Rogers would play a part in that.

So he lay there and meditated, happy in his plans, confident that he could keep Harry safe after all, if not perfectly safe.

And then Harry woke and ruined it all.


	16. If It Is Possible to Expire

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Sixteen—If It Is Possible to Expire of Exasperation_

The first thing Harry did was stare at him. Then he shook his head as if he expected Draco would vanish when he did so. "What kind of potion did I take last night?" he muttered.

This was not a flattering start, but Draco could understand Harry's reluctance to make sense of the situation. After all, he must not be expecting to wake up with someone tender and considerate in his bed, someone who would do his best to ensure that the mistakes of the past did not repeat themselves. Draco had to wonder, thinking about Harry's relationships with his past lovers, whether he didn't have a strong self-destructive streak, connected to the part of himself that insinuated he didn't deserve fair and careful treatment.

"No potion, actually," Draco said softly. Harry's head twitched as if the very gentleness made him want to leap out of the bed, but Draco noticed that he didn't actually do it. _Think about the positive things, not the things that are irritating in their absence, _he told himself. "That was the effect of natural sleep, the first you've allowed yourself in—months? I would say so, given some of the diagnostic spells the books have taught me to use on you. And it was only this morning, not last night. Though it's evening now. I didn't think you would wake up inside the day." Harry _had _slept longer than that, but Draco saw no need to tell him so right away. Otherwise he would be on his feet in moments, fretting about his lost hours' work, and undo most of the good effect of his sleep.

Harry's face promptly flamed. His eyelids quivered as if he longed to turn away from Draco and drop them over his eyes, but also hated that admission of weakness. He cleared his throat gruffly, but he didn't reply, as Draco had expected. Instead, he started to sit up.

It seemed natural to Draco to hold him down on the bed. They hadn't finished their discussion, after all. But it caused Harry to look down at the arm planted across his chest, realize Draco was in the bed, and convulse in fury.

"What did you think you were doing?" he snapped. He actually gripped Draco's arm and threw it off, which made Draco wince in pain. Harry wasn't in a mood to notice the wince, as his next rant proved. "Sleeping with me without my consent?"

Draco forced himself to smile. This was not exactly the way he had pictured Harry waking up. But showing weakness now would only encourage Harry to keep attacking, under the mistaken notion that he could force Draco to retreat or his new family to stop caring about him. "It did you no harm," he said, "and I wanted to. In fact, several times during the past few hours you sighed and cuddled up to me. You're used to sleeping with someone else in your bed, aren't you? At least your body seems to have missed it."

_Let's humble him a bit. Let him know just how much I know about him._

"You're mistaking the source of my displeasure," Harry said, with what he probably imagined was restrained dignity. "It's not that someone was in my bed, it's that someone I didn't invite and in fact have explicitly refused several times was."

Draco had to cramp the muscles of his face so that he could keep smiling. Harry was not being _reasonable_. Yes, he had refused Draco's sexual advances so far, but it wasn't as if Draco had tried to molest him. He should be listening to Draco's words about pleasure and desire instead of bristling like a kitten offended by a dog's stepping onto its territory. "You want to row with me over something that's not worth a row," he said, lowering his voice further still. Harry's face acquired a light, new flush that said he wasn't immune to Draco's tone. "I didn't take off my clothes, or yours. I didn't hurt you. But I did want to see what kind of sleeper you were, for…future reference." _There. Calendus the Seducer couldn't have managed a more subtle flirtation, and I know he slept with one of Harry's ancestors._

Harry shook his head, face still shut in incomprehensible implacability. "You've seen," he said. "Now. If you'll excuse me, I should eat something and start studying again. That those Dark spells were buried under the Mirror Maze implies either a conspiracy of casters or—something else. And I have to find out what the other thing is." He tilted his head back slightly against the pillow, showing his pulse to Draco as if defying Draco to hold him in bed when he was acting so vulnerable.

Draco looked at him very narrowly and without a smile this time, because Harry had to understand, and he was acting as if he couldn't. Draco had never liked people denying their natural intelligence, but it was particularly unattractive when someone he wanted did it. "I've seen," he said. His voice purred. What more did Harry need to grasp his meaning? "And I want to see more. Only then can I fully judge how much you've been neglecting yourself."

"Neglecting myself?" Harry ran both his hands through his hair as if its disorder didn't satisfy him yet, and then dug his fingers deep and yanked. Draco concealed a flinch only by dint of long practice. Yes, Harry did have a self-destructive streak, and when he thought it out of the question to react against the other people around him, he would punish himself. "You don't know the first thing about Healers, Malfoy—"

"Draco." Draco covered Harry's hands with his own and began to massage them, adding the purring tone to his voice again. If all went as he planned, Harry would learn to associate that tone with pleasurable things done to him. And Harry did relax a moment later, his eyelids fluttering as if he would have liked to go further than he allowed himself to and surrender completely. Draco lowered his eyes, because he knew his smile would be visible in them as it wasn't on his face. "And I know a thing or two from studying your books. But as you keep telling me, you're a mediwizard and not a Healer, so I feel freer to listen to my instincts and my observations." _I win either way with that sentiment. Either he'll have to agree with me and let himself be coddled a bit, or he'll loudly assert his expertise and, with it, his own right to better treatment than he's received._

Harry, being Harry, tossed his head like a wild horse and tried to pull away. Draco slid his hands down the sides of Harry's neck to his shoulders and yanked him close. He made sure to frown himself. Perhaps it was time for a bit of true firmness. Harry was being incorrigible.

"And what my instincts and my observations tell me," Draco said, making sure to keep his voice soft, "combined with what I learned of you when we mingled our power under the blood magic, is that you're trying to compensate for what you see as your weaknesses or deficiencies by driving yourself to the edge of madness and exhaustion. Tell me, Harry. Who do you think is going to be impressed by that? Will you save one more person because you're so tired you're stumbling? Or will you be better able to brew a potion that will ease pain because you've missed a meal?"

They were sound arguments, weighty arguments. They should make Harry rethink his own position and evaluate it in the light of reason.

Of course Harry only looked at Draco as if he had declared an allegiance to Muggles.

"I don't brew potions, as you know very well, _Malfoy_." Draco hissed under his breath, irritated with himself for forgetting Harry's sensitiveness about the Potions issue, and tried to apologize, but Harry was rushing ahead. "I'm only a mediwizard, and that's because my poor skills at Potions followed me from Hogwarts into my career. You ought to see it as justified revenge, if anything," he added.

Draco shook his head. He had to do that or explode in frustration. _Who does he think I am? What does he think I'm feeling towards him right now? I've been as kind as I can, far kinder than I ever was at school, and he gets more and more suspicious. You'd think he _preferred _our old footing, with all the rivalry._

_Maybe he does. Maybe he feels that would give him the right to reject my concern, as he can't do whilst I'm talking to him like he's a human being._

Because he needed to touch Harry and he was about to shake him, he raised his hand and cupped the back of Harry's head, fingers feathering lightly through his hair. Harry closed his eyes and let his head sag forwards slightly. Draco reminded himself that Harry's scalp was sensitive, for future reference, and breathed gently, hoping that he was close enough for his breath to reach the spot under Harry's ear that he liked to kiss.

"Harry," Draco whispered, "when you became part of the family, I gave up laughing at such things. I might joke with you, I might think your foibles are funny, but I don't despise you." He again touched the back of Harry's head, this time a pale variation of the sharp poke that he longed to give to wake Harry up from his self-imposed blindness. "It's a source of pain to me that you would drive yourself like that because you're not good at Potions."

"That's not the only reason!" Harry opened his eyes and stared at him incredulously. "I also can take more punishment than most people. I'm still young, whilst most of my patients are children or people at least as old as your father. I can miss some sleep and some meals now, and that means I'm doing better, faster work. Missing those meals and sleep is not going to _kill_ me, but sometimes it would kill _them _if I delayed."

Draco bit his tongue. He had to, despite the welling of pain that filled his mouth and the temptation to yelp, because otherwise he would say something truly unfortunate, something that would drive Harry away from him. _You mad bastard, do you have the slightest idea of what your words reveal to someone who actually _listens _to them? Your friends are probably used to them, or else you've never said something like this, and God knows what the other Healers in hospital with you were thinking. _

_You act as though you don't matter, as though your life is only of use in the service of others. And I think I know why that is. Once the Dark Lord was dead, you didn't know what to do with yourself, but you were certain that a life of service was the only way to keep people interested in and loving you. Maybe you even feel that becoming a mediwizard justifies your staying alive, instead of dying properly when your task was done._

Draco sighed deeply and spoke a lesser truth that he'd sensed from Harry's words, because he doubted that the full one would be welcome now. "It's perfectly clear now why you really refused this bed and stopped eating the moment I teased you. Sleep and food have never been sources of pleasure for you, have they?"

Harry opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, as if he had sensed the ridiculousness of whatever answer he was about to make. Draco was mildly impressed that he had that amount of insight. Of course, what he said a moment later wasn't much less ridiculous. "They're necessities," he said. "I can survive as well on porridge and orange juice as on the fruit you served me this morning. Why would I go out of my way to seek something richer?"

Draco pursed his lips. "I see," he said. _Just a mild exclamation, nothing to reveal my bellyful of rage. Harry wouldn't understand it._

"Do you?" Harry leaned forwards.

_Oh, fuck. Now he thinks he has to convert me to his way of seeing things._

"It's not that I'm not grateful for what you've tried to do for me. It's just that I don't _need _these gifts, and I won't appreciate them properly. Keep them for yourselves. At least that way you know they aren't going to waste."

"Going to—" Draco closed his eyes. His hand trembled where it lay on the bed. He was at least confident that Harry wasn't looking in that direction, but that was a small consolation next to the sick, dizzy swooping in his stomach.

_His relatives did something to him. They must have. No child raised normally, with love and affection, thinks that nice food and a snug bed are going to waste on him. If anything, most children want more than their parents will give them._

Draco was grateful that solid thought had come to him. It gave him something to cling to as he listened to Harry's next diatribe.

"Would you really want to give someone a crystal pendant, for example, if you knew they didn't value crystal pendants? It's better if I have what I need to get the job done and nothing more. In this case it's Healing books, and if you were keeping a book about that back from me I would be upset. But I don't need books about magical creatures, no matter how beautiful the books are, because they're not relevant to my job. Do you understand?" he added.

And he sounded so bloody _earnest_, too.

"I understand you," Draco said, and opened his eyes, no longer trying to control his glare. His mother had said to be honest with Harry. Well, he would. "I understand that you aren't thinking about the consequences of your own actions. What would happen if you didn't treat a patient right, or missed a detail that would reveal their disease, because you hadn't slept enough? What if you fainted from hunger in the middle of an important procedure?"

"That wouldn't happen. I always get enough food and sleep to prevent that."

"But someday you won't, with as little attention as you pay to it." Draco leaned forwards. He would make Harry understand this if it meant driving him away from the house. Lucius was still a patient here; Harry would come back. Draco understood enough about him now to be sure of that. "I had thought you would take care of yourself because you wanted to practice your job, but no, you don't even do that, do you? Otherwise you would have slept in this bed last night and attempted to eat as full a breakfast as possible."

Harry flushed and shifted, as if he wanted to run away. Draco didn't care, didn't feel the slightest stirring of sympathy. If Harry had done something for years besides abuse his body and his common sense and his sanity, then perhaps he would have.

"Listen," Harry said, "you can't—you can't set a bedtime for me, as if I were a little kid, or force food down my throat."

"Why would I?" Draco asked calmly. "That would make you angry with me, be a time-consuming and disgusting task, and accomplish nothing. And besides, there's a limit to how far family members can force each other."

Harry relaxed. Draco _did _so enjoy when his victims did that.

"So I'll have Rogers do it," Draco said, and snapped his fingers. Rogers appeared and bowed, his eyes intently fixed on Draco's face. Draco enjoyed every word he spoke then, knowing that Rogers would remember them all. "Rogers, from this moment on and until we tell you otherwise, you're Master Harry's house-elf. You're to make sure he balances his studying and his working with attending to the basic necessities of life. You'll give him basic instruction in being a Malfoy, too. Obey his orders, but only within reason."

Rogers turned his head with impressive, terrifying slowness and fixed Harry with his large eyes. The bow he gave was probably part of Harry's nightmares, considering his friendship with Granger and her horror of elf servitude. "It shall be as you say, Master Draco Malfoy."

"If I'm a Malfoy, too," Harry said quickly, "I ought to be able to countermand those orders. Rogers, leave me alone."

"That order is not being within reason," Rogers said. "Master Harry Potter will swiftly learn reason, with Rogers as his house-elf."

Harry snarled and turned on Draco. Draco wanted to laugh at the expression on his face. Harry was just too _nice _to do rage properly. Draco knew for certain that if he cut his finger open right now, Harry would put him to bed in turn and cast numerous healing spells on the wound whilst asking professional questions and lecturing him about the dangers of the Cutting Curse. "You can't do this to me," he said.

Draco raised his hands in mock fear. "I'm not doing anything to you," he said. "Rogers is doing it."

"You know very well what I mean, and this is ludicrous!" Harry snapped. "Do you want your father healed or not? I have to be free to work, and—"

Anger snapped in Draco like a banner. He leaned in until his nose touched Harry's. Harry stiffened and swallowed. Good. Draco would have hated to think that he'd lost his touch in intimidation.

"Of course I want my father healed," Draco whispered. "Never dare to ask me that again. And what's ludicrous is your insistence on acting like a _child_. Any halfway sensible person can keep himself fed and rested, even if he doesn't have all the advantages we have here." He slid out of the bed in one swift movement, but he never looked away; he knew Harry would doubt his seriousness if he did. "You're part of the family," he said, "and I want you rather badly. Neither of those means you can get away with everything."

He strode to the door and started to open it, but by that time, Harry had managed to find his voice. "I'm sorry," he said.

Draco didn't need to ask which part of it he was sorry for. He glanced back with a faint smile. "I know you are," he said. "And maybe when you've worked out why you ought to be sorry for everything, I'll be ready to accept the apology."

He shut the door. He thought he heard Harry catch his breath once before he did, as if he were about to say something else, but in the end, he stayed silent.

Draco was glad of that. He couldn't have borne another confrontation right now.

He paced towards his rooms, his head lowered, his heart thunderous in his ears. Every time he forced himself back towards calm, another of Harry's remembered words would gallop through his mind and laugh in his ears, and he landed in rage again. He had to pause outside his door and thump a hand into the wall; there were delicate instruments of silver and crystal that vibrated to his mood in his rooms, and he would shatter them if he went in as angry as this.

Why couldn't things be more _normal? _Why did Harry have to be as stubborn and stupid and heroic as he was? Draco wondered for a moment if he really _wanted _to be in love with someone like Harry. God knew it would have been simpler if he'd chosen a woman or man who was of pure-blood family, someone who could accept the codes of his family without such fuss, and someone who wasn't likely to die before the age of thirty.

_But you know very well that no one of pure-blood family would have performed the same heroic actions Harry did. A sacrifice of blood would have to be repaid in Galleons. Or fame, or prestige. Instead, Harry is the one who will bring prestige to the Malfoys. And you know that he'll demand little of you in return._

Draco should have been ecstatic at the news that he could find a partner without endless complicated negotiations to settle the power dynamics between the families. Things would have been different if Harry's parents were alive, but they weren't, so even that barrier was removed. The Malfoys were _justified _in accepting gifts without giving them in return. They had secured a coup.

But Draco was not happy, because he had been raised with the idea that gifts were best repaid with gifts. To be in debt was not a matter of joy. He wanted to give Harry something in return for many reasons. To settle the debt was only one of them. He wanted to see Harry's eyes widen with pleasure and know it had come about because of him.

He had to use Rogers to give the gifts of food and rest and serious attention, because he was inadequate in persuading Harry to accept them. And the thought of his own inadequacy galled him.

Then his head came up, and his eyes focused down the intense, glittering dark blue corridor outside his rooms, though he saw the glitter for only a moment before his thoughts consumed him.

_There is something I can do for him. I can learn to understand him, well enough that he'll eventually accept the gifts because they'll be things he actually wants. Not crystal pendants, no; nothing so useless, as he would say. I wanted to do research on his Muggle family anyway. And if they were good to him, and his peculiarities spring from something else, then I'll reward them. That would content Harry._

_If they weren't good to him…_

Draco gave a faint smile that he knew was hard, and opened the door to his rooms. The instruments of silver and crystal, shining on their shelves, didn't vibrate even when he shut the door behind him. Why should they? He was calm and focused now, ablaze with intensity and purpose, but they weren't tuned to pick up an intellectual passion, only an emotional one.

_If they weren't good to him, then I'll find a way to make them suffer for that. I don't think he would accept the revenge as a gift, but the knowledge will let me decide what he will. _

Draco set his teeth in a faint grin and went to send the proper owls, ignoring the faint nagging in the back of his mind that told him he was acting out of pain as much as common sense and that he hadn't followed Narcissa's advice to show his own vulnerabilities to Harry.

_Maybe it would have helped if I'd shown him I was angry, and why._

_But it wouldn't have helped if I'd shaken his teeth out of his head because I was frustrated, _Draco retorted to that part of his mind, and with that indubitable logic, the dissenting corner of his brain fell silent and left him to write his letters.


	17. Narcissa to the Rescue

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_Chapter Seventeen--Narcissa to the Rescue_

Narcissa remained with Lucius that afternoon, whilst Draco went to watch Harry sleep and probably try another phase of his unsuccessful courtship. Narcissa knew it would be unsuccessful because she did not yet see true commitment to honesty in her son's eyes. Harry would need more than that. Draco was still focused too much at the moment on wooing. If he sought to change Harry so that he would become a more acceptable Malfoy, he had also to change himself.

But her son was young enough to learn lessons once they had collided twice or thrice with his stubborn head. Narcissa was more concerned at the moment with Lucius, in whose face she had recognized subtle signs of weakening.

It was a slow poisoning. He spoke of Harry after Draco left, slipping between his last name and his first alternately--something he never would have done in a normal mood. He touched her hand and then let his own hand drop as if he had forgotten the point he was trying to make with the gesture. He stared at the ceiling with glazed eyes for a moment or two when Narcissa was describing the reactions of the Death Eater wives and daughters she had met with so far.

He was feeling inadequate, Narcissa thought. Confined to bed, not as physically strong as normal, with the main part he could play in keeping Harry in the family as a patient only, he needed some means of triumph.

She leaned towards him, still speaking smooth, cool words. Lucius didn't notice. His eyes had fixed gloomily on the foot of the bed, and his mouth had curved into the kind of frown usually followed by a Blasting Curse.

Narcissa leaned a hand on his shoulder and kissed him.

He turned towards her, a startled exclamation bubbling in his throat, and Narcissa kissed him again. She had long ago mastered a wandless, nonverbal spell that would release her hair from any confinement, and now it fell waving around her face and his, a fall of gleaming blonde untouched by gray. Lucius made another wordless sound, greedy this time, and tangled his hands in it.

Narcissa smiled.

They moved slowly, as though underwater, struggling against the invisible weight that was Lucius's injury (and, for Narcissa at least though perhaps not for Lucius, the inaudible words that Harry would speak if he could see them, scolding them for taking any chance that could set back his patient's healing). Narcissa used her hands and mouth to make Lucius shudder, sigh, and throw his head back; she avoided his chest where the most wounds had opened. Lucius recovered and gazed at her with his face flushed and aglow, then indicated she should move up the bed and straddle his mouth. Narcissa did so, and found it hard to do anything but close _her _eyes when Lucius proved that his tongue did not always say foolish things. The words he mouthed against her groin and her vulva were more than clever.

But she had always been unable to live in the body only (one thing that she and her new son had in common). Even as she arched her back and cried out in a soft, breathy voice she never heard at any other time and which didn't sound like her own, her mind was busy working, delving into the question of what ought to happen next.

They needed time. They needed secrecy. They needed answers. They needed power.

Reluctantly, as she collapsed beside her husband and turned so that they were lying neck against neck and shoulder to shoulder, Narcissa decided that she would need to retract the revenge story she had created for Eleanor Greenbriar about Lucius pursuing another woman. It would cost them too much trouble at the moment if it were believed. She needed a different tack instead, and she would think of one.

She took revenge by biting Lucius on the throat instead, and then casting a glamour to cover the injury. Lucius whinged a bit about the drawing of blood and the minor pain, but knew better than to inquire for her reasons.

* * *

Narcissa paused when she stepped into the library. Harry was standing with a hand braced on the shelves, scowling at them as if he thought the books he wanted were deliberately hiding. His muscles were all locked stiff and straight; his sleep after his healing of Lucius had perhaps done him no good at all.

"Harry," she said, letting the door fall to behind her with a small squeak so as not to startle him, "why didn't you tell me you wanted more Healing books? I would have had the house-elves bring them to you."

Harry turned around and bowed promptly, this time catching himself on a chair. He had a smile on his face, but it didn't take Narcissa's level of experience and training with false expressions to know this for a simple, shallow mask. And why did he need a hand on the shelf _and _the chair? He might have been using his fingers against the wood of the bookshelves to trace a particular line of titles, but on the chair, he could have no such excuse.

"I didn't think of it," he replied, with a faint rasp to his voice that Narcissa thought would have been too subtle for Draco to notice. "I'm not used to dealing with house-elves. And you've already done so much for me." He forced a blush onto his skin, and Narcissa wondered why he would need to _feign _embarrassment, when so far he had done well enough growing it naturally. "Besides, I'm afraid I wanted to see more of this house."

Narcissa moved a few steps closer. Harry had shifted his shoulders as if he would gesture around the library, and then frozen at the last moment, hissing quietly under his breath. He probably wasn't aware of the motions; they were the kind of thing few people would notice. Narcissa sought an answer for them, and noticed the tight creases at the corners of his eyes and the way he held his head as if it were full of blown eggs. _Pain, but what part of the body it is coming from I do not yet know. _

"No need to apologize," said Narcissa. She luxuriated in the cool feel of the tile under her feet; the library floor had been replaced with brilliant blue glass a year ago, when Narcissa had remarked to Lucius that she never saw enough of the sky in the Manor. "But I do wish you had felt free to call a house-elf for help. That would have found the Healing books for you more quickly than this search would have."

That got her a tight smile, which crinkled with more pain. Time, perhaps, for more direct tactics.

"I fear you are in pain."

Harry shook his head at once, and promptly staggered. From the green tint to the edge of his chin and his cheeks, Narcissa thought he had nearly vomited. A soft "Fuck," escaped his lips.

_A headache, then. _Narcissa narrowed her eyes. _How did I not notice this before? Of course, if Harry Potter were skilled in one form of feigning, it would be hiding his own wounds._

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, absurdly, a real blush on his cheeks this time, whilst his eyes watered with the pain. Rogers popped into view to the side, his ears drawn flat against his head like a spitting cat's. Narcissa had seen Draco briefly that morning, and she knew that her son had given Harry into their oldest elf's charge. Rogers looked torn, now, between exasperation that Harry had escaped his sight for even a few minutes and concern that it had caused him real injury.

Narcissa had already waved her wand, of course, and a blue mist visible only to her eyes had flowed out of her wand and encircled Harry's head. It came back to her a moment later, and imprinted letters on her mind as gently as a baby's hand pressing against an adult's. _A headache curse._

She could not have been more startled and mortified if a house-elf had had to empty a bucket of ice water over her head to awaken her in time for a social call. She clenched her hands shut and allowed herself a moment's luxury of fingers pressing tightly into her skin.

_I should have noticed._

A small sentence, but it was enough to remind her of her duty. It was the duty of a pure-blood matriarch to see to the comfort of guests in her home, which she knew in ways that were likely to be different from her husband's; if she had married into the family, so much the better, because her learned familiarity with the house could enable her to see weaknesses those born into it would never notice. And she had claimed Harry as her son by blood, she had encouraged Lucius and Draco to speak more gently to him, and what had she done?

She had missed something as simple and basic as a headache curse, which meant Harry had spent needless time in pain.

A shiver of irritation worked up her spine and then down again. She had to take deep breaths to contain the ache that the shiver wanted to become. However, with Harry so involved in his own embarrassment, she didn't think he had noticed--one good consequence of his ridiculous concern with swearing in front of her, at least.

"I am more sorry, for not noticing the curse on you at once," she said. "As the guardian of this house, I should have noticed anything on my guests that might cause them harm." He would not understand the full impact of the apology, but she needed to speak it for her own sanity. And if he did become more fully a part of the family in knowledge as well as blood and study the traditions, he would understand someday. Narcissa was willing to wait for that. It had taken Lucius and Draco years to learn certain lessons she had wanted to teach them.

She stepped forwards and pressed her fingers against Harry's temples, orienting herself to the curse. It circled his head like a tight circlet of thorny gold, pressing so close that Narcissa was surprised he did not cry out.

_But he has been taught to disregard it, _she decided, seeing Harry's eyes more focused on her, more concerned with what she was doing, than with the notion that he was cursed. _Something is dreadfully wrong with him, yes. No normal soul binds to pain like that, when pleasure is available instead._

The person who had cast the curse was probably one of those who had done much to habituate him to agony, Narcissa thought. Therefore, she cast a spell that twined into the curse and stripped it from him rather than one that simply made it vanish. The stripped curse blew into her head as Harry staggered and Rogers caught his elbow to keep him from falling.

"Master Harry Potter has not learned what sense is yet. Rogers did so hope he would have." The elf shook his head, his ears flapping and his eyes big with sorrow.

Narcissa stood still a moment to absorb the information her spell had brought her. It contained a certain magical signature, one that throbbed with angry life and malignant power--but not power that reminded her of the Dark Lord or her Dark sister. This was the signature of someone frustrated in life, she judged, someone who would cast the curse on Harry for petty revenge.

But the effects on Harry had not been petty. They had fed into the sickness in his soul that made him consider he deserved no better than hard work and constant anguish. Therefore, Narcissa would take vengeance on the caster, as soon as she had placed the magical signature into a Pensieve, compared it to her memories of the time they had spent in hospital, and determined which Healer or mediwizard had a signature like it.

"I—I don't know what you did, but thank you." Harry raised his head with a sickly smile. Narcissa wondered if he had ever known what it was to be in true health. "No magic has ever affected them before. Even headache potions only help for a while."

"I should think they do," said Narcissa, and frowned at him. _Did he never suspect unnatural means of pain when that was the case, when the headaches escaped measures that should have affected them? _She did not think Harry was stupid, having seen him react quickly and effectively under extreme pressure, but this was another sign of the way he diverted attention, even his own, from himself. "There was a _curse_ on you, Harry, one that made you suffer devastating headaches at random intervals. I haven't seen it often, which is the only excuse I can give for not banishing it the moment you stepped into our home."

Anger and regret tightened her throat. Understanding of pure-blood traditions or not, Harry might still blame her for failing to protect him.

Harry stared at her. Then he swallowed. "Would a Healer have known that spell and how to apply it?" he asked.

_Yes, he is not unintelligent. His mind is running along the same lines as mine did. _"Oh, surely." Narcissa twitched her head in a quick toss. "The reverse of that spell is a charm developed by--"_ say the right word "--_Muggleborns to cure migraines. It would be easy enough to turn it back and use its opposite."

Harry hissed between his teeth. His eyes focused on the distance for a moment, flat and deadly. Narcissa studied him with covert approval. _Let him only look like that at the one who cast the curse, and I will not have so many fears for his safety. _

"Thank you," he whispered again, and his eyes turned soft and warm once more. Narcissa did not think his anger had passed, but he was good at burying it, it seemed, and turning his mind to something else, in this case thanking her--

For something she did not deserve thanks for.

"You need not thank me," said Narcissa. "As I said, I keep this house. I am in charge of making sure our guests are comfortable—in all ways. And my not noticing the curse at once, and letting you suffer through it for a day, is inexcusable." Her foot beat a tattoo on the tiles. To stop it--though she supposed displaying irrepressible agitation could go some way towards convincing Harry how sincerely she cared for him--she sank into a curtsey. The tile was cool against her feet, her knee, her skirts. "Can you forgive me?"

Harry was silent for long moments, as if fighting his anger. But Narcissa knew she had mistaken the emotion when he spoke. "Of course," he whispered. "I had no idea it was there, how could you?"

"It has to do with the duties of a pure-blood family and a pure-blood hostess," said Narcissa. "And a pure-blood lady of the family." She rose to her feet and laid her wrists on Harry's shoulders, staring into his eyes. "There is so much you have been deprived of," she whispered. "I bless your mother for dying for you, because she saved us all."

The hunger in Harry's face went into Narcissa's heart like a splinter of ice. _How many people have ever praised his parents? How many different stories has he managed to hear about them? One would think his Muggle relatives would speak of his mother, sing her story, and value him the more because her blood bought his life, but Muggles do not understand the most basic necessities, sometimes._

"But I wish she had lived, to provide you with those things you had missed." Narcissa caressed Harry's cheek this time, and she made a silent vow to that brave Mudblood woman, dead these twenty-six years, that she would do her best to care for her son in Lily's place. "You are noble and self-sacrificing, we have seen that, but those virtues have overgrown the other virtues you might have developed. I hope that we can teach you to explore other possibilities than being a flawless hero at all times." She smiled at him, seeing from the twitch around his eyes that that was enough truth for right now, and retreated into a more cool commonplace. "Now, tell me the Healing books you're looking for."

"Any that reference Dark magic," Harry said, and his eyes fluttered, as if he didn't want to ask for her help but didn't see how he could avoid it. "And any that might explain why the blood magic worked to heal your husband yesterday." Narcissa paused, forcing herself to remember this moment. Harry would rather look to books for answers than ask his new family simple questions.

_I will remember that. One measure of our success in making him part of the Malfoys will be when he actually _does _ask those questions._

She laughed in the next moment, so that Harry would not put an ill interpretation on her silence. "Ah, you should have asked me about that," she said, and stroked Harry's cheek again. It was pleasant indeed to have a child she could touch this much, and who leaned into the caresses even if he would have denied that he needed it in words. Draco had early outgrown fondness for his mother's signs of affection. "It works by the combined efforts of the family, a commitment of as much of themselves as they can safely give."

Harry shook his head. "But how could it not have healed the curse Lucius was under? Why did you come to St. Mungo's in the first place?"

"We can only heal damage we see and understand," said Narcissa. _Which is why we need to know more about you before we can heal you completely. _"We did not know the Mirror Maze existed, or even that the wounds opening on my husband's body were the result of a combination of curses." She considered, and decided Harry could endure a short lesson. "And besides, we can only commit as much of ourselves as is _safe_. Our priority is the survival of the family. If it turned out that the wounds run so deep we might destroy two family members in healing one, we would pull back."

Harry nodded slowly. Fierce emotions rolled under his eyes and expression like battling sea-creatures, emotions Narcissa could barely understand or guess at. But she would need to familiarize herself with them. Until Harry learned the benefits of valuing his life, they would have to value it for him.

"You still have much to learn," Narcissa continued, but made her voice a gentle murmur rather than a scold. "We will not punish you for your ignorance. Come and speak with me if you cannot bear the thought of asking my husband or son." She stiffened her expression. "And now, if you will excuse me, I am going to seek out a Pensieve."

She could feel Harry staring at her in bafflement as she swept out, but she knew that she had made at least one advance into his feelings. Harry judged people by their actions--unless they were his patients, and then he seemed to judge mostly the actions that might jeopardize their health. And she had cured his headache curse, giving him freedom from pain.

He would remember that when her words faded.


	18. Harry on Display

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_Chapter Eighteen—Harry On Display_

"And you think this necessary?" Lucius's voice was deep with skepticism. The last time he had sounded like that, Draco thought as he leaned against the wall and rolled tension out of his neck, was when Draco had insisted that he needed the newest Firebolt model for a Potions mastery demonstration (there were some potions that could only be brewed at high speed flying upside down and backwards).

"I do." Draco kept his voice cool and patient. Lucius responded best to purely intellectual appeals. "One person asking will not have the force of two people doing so. And considering that your acquaintances know more about your past with Harry than they do about mine with him—well." He shrugged and smiled. "They are more likely to pay attention if you write to them."

"I am not at my best at the moment." Lucius made a slight gesture towards his chest, leaving Draco to admire the understatement. "They may disregard my pleas altogether."

"I'm not asking for pleas," Draco said, surprised. "Questions only. Bargains."

"We do not have so much money that—"

"Bargains to be fulfilled with potions," Draco interrupted smoothly.

Lucius paused, then chuckled. "Ah, yes," he said. "At times it is reassuring to remember that I have a Potions master for a son."

_When you remember it, _Draco wanted to say, but he saw no reason to be impertinent. He was asking his father to do a favor for him: writing to the other members of Hogwarts' Board of Governors and asking them to do what they could to give him access to Harry's student records. Draco himself had written to friends from Slytherin House and a few of the more politically connected Potions mastery students he worked with. Both those routes might produce information on Harry's Muggle family in time, but neither was as direct.

Besides, with Potions mastery students able to brew their own potions, Draco thought their aid was likely to be more expensive.

"Very well," said Lucius. "I will write." He paused. "Not that I see a need. Harry Potter seems to me to be a normal young man, when one adjusts one's mental parameters to remember that he was raised outside the pure-blood families."

"It's more than a lack of knowledge of our customs," Draco said quietly. "It's a _resistance _to them. He doesn't think that he deserves the food and the comforts we want to give him. And I saw his house, Father. He was living in the middle of a ruin, with minimal improvements. I'm sure he would say it was because he spent so much time in hospital, but a wizard who neglects his home—"

Lucius grimaced and nodded. Draco looked around again at the big, beautiful bedroom his father had long since claimed for his own. A wizard's home was the thing that kept him alive, kept his _family _alive. A warded manor house or even a room, strongly protected enough, could resist enemies, contain supplies of food, and allow the captive wizard or wizards time to research their way out of their predicament. A wizard who neglected his home was neglecting his own bodily and mental health.

"I _will_ ask," said Lucius. "It's ludicrous that he should die of neglect before he has a real chance to become part of our family."

Draco smiled.

Someone knocked on the door, but the rhythm and the confidence of it told Draco it was his mother. Lucius asked her to come in anyway; most of the time, his parents maintained courtesies between themselves, despite their constant contests.

"Someone in St. Mungo's wanted to harm Harry," Narcissa said, as she closed the door behind her. "He had a headache curse on him, one that could have flared unpredictably at any time and no doubt debilitated him from getting proper work done."

Draco felt his jaw clench. Lucius made a soft, thoughtful noise, probably to cover his own surprise. Draco felt no need to do so; his parents already knew the way he felt about Harry. "Why didn't you notice that at once?" he demanded.

Narcissa gave him a long, slow look that said she fully understood her own negligence and saw no need for him to comment upon it. "Because I had other things to think about," she said, "and because your father's wounds had unnecessarily distracted me. It will not happen again." She looked at Lucius and began to speak before Draco could request more reassurances. "Given how much hostility towards Harry appears to exist in St. Mungo's, perhaps it would be wise to tell him about your conflicts with the hospital administrators."

"The headache curse was of long duration?" Lucius asked, lifting himself against his pillows.

"Yes," Narcissa admitted. "At least three months, quite possibly longer. I do not believe Harry would be able to pinpoint a beginning to the headaches, based on his manner when I asked him. He had no idea they were caused by a curse; he spoke as if they had always been a part of his life."

Draco growled under his breath. Of _course _Harry would think that. He had never cared enough about himself to go and seek out magical cures to his problems. Perhaps his relatives had done that to him, or simple years of growing up as a Muggle. Draco would never know.

_Of course, I can still punish the Muggle relatives for it if we can't catch who did this, _he thought hopefully.

"I've placed my memory of removing the curse in a Pensieve," said Narcissa. "I should be able to identify the magical signature soon, and if it was someone I met in hospital, I will know."

Draco looked at his mother admiringly. He had never been able to manipulate a Pensieve memory that way, so that it would show traces of magic as well as sensory input. On the other hand, she couldn't create a life-saving potion out of seaweed and orange peels, so perhaps it balanced out.

"And if it was someone you did not meet?" Lucius asked, who had apparently sprung ahead to some conclusion Draco hadn't reached. He was frowning slightly.

"Then I will need to disguise myself and return to St. Mungo's," Narcissa said, as if she were telling the house-elves what to prepare for dinner that night.

"You cannot," Lucius said with some authority.

Draco leaned forwards, just enough so that Lucius could see the corner of his upturned lip and his meticulously narrowed eyes. "Father," he said, in the tone that he usually used for addressing people far younger than himself.

Lucius looked at him with a blank, composed face.

"Father," Draco repeated. "You would let a crime committed on a member of our family go _unpunished? _You know the law would not be on our side, and would take too long in any case. For months—for years—Harry has suffered. Would you have his new family be like his thoughtless friends and refuse to notice that?"

"I would have us be sure of how long he has suffered, first, and match the vengeance to that length," said Lucius, and turned to Narcissa. "Investigating the Pensieve memory of the curse would tell you that?"

"It would." Narcissa inclined her head, not deigning to notice the way Draco looked at her.

"Well, then," Lucius said. "I insist the investigation be conducted first, before another member of our family ventures back into danger. One family member must not be sacrificed to save another."

And to that, Draco had to accede. The same logic that had saved Harry's and Lucius's lives when they used the family blood magic must prevail now. Draco sighed. He would have to content himself with private fantasies of vengeance until his mother finished her research.

Someone knocked on the door.

Draco lifted his head, blinking. It had to be Harry, of course, because the house-elves would simply spring into the room and no one else was in the house—

Or it was one of the enemies, with the wards fallen.

Draco stepped smoothly closer to the bed, his mother mimicking him on the other side. Lucius drew his wand openly; Draco and Narcissa slipped theirs into their hands, out of their sleeves. Harry, if it was only him, was more likely to understand Lucius's paranoia than theirs.

Lucius spoke the spell that would cause the door to open on its own in a breath that was little more than a sigh. Draco tensed, aware that he might be fighting for his life in moments, dreamily aware that it was hard to think so. And yet, that dreaminess would explode into swift action if it needed to. He knew himself.

The door opened, and Harry stood framed in it. He stood blinking at them for a moment, as if he were as surprised as they were by his presence here. Then Harry lifted his chin and practically _swaggered _into the room.

A nod to Lucius, a bow to Narcissa, and a smile to Draco—tepid as birdbath water—followed. Draco was sure he had practiced the motions, and wondered at the change even as he delighted in it. Harry must have decided to try to appear more confident in front of them, but why? Had he decided that he needed to?

"Lucius," he said, as though the name were saltwater on his lips. His eyes flicked for one moment to Draco's, then to Narcissa's face. She was smiling, Draco saw, with that sideways glance that, combined with long knowledge, told him what his mother was doing more accurately than the most open stare. "I want you to try and remember if any of the Death Eaters you worked with had Healing talent."

Draco blinked. _Yes, perhaps the enemies Father has in hospital administration are linked to the ones who attacked him, and perhaps it would be better for Harry if he knew about Father's quarrels with the board of St. Mungo's. Of course, that is his information to reveal, and not mine._

"Rodolphus Lestrange did," said Lucius, and cleared his throat. "But I think you will find that he is firmly in Azkaban, and unlikely to be in a position to curse me. My visits to Azkaban have been of long duration, but few in number."

Harry grinned. Draco found himself pleased about that. If Harry liked his father's sense of humor, he might also come to like Draco's, which Draco had been told was similar.

"I didn't plan to accuse Lestrange," Harry said. "But I wanted to know if someone could have known both several spells that a Healer would and also the _Sectumsempra_ curse, the spell that almost cut your heart out of your chest the other day. A Death Eater seems the likeliest candidate. At least, I know a Death Eater invented that curse."

_He did indeed, _Draco thought, and fought the urge to trace the scars on his chest, invisible under the line of his shirt.

"Who?" Narcissa demanded.

"Severus Snape," Harry answered.

His mother flinched. Draco concealed a sigh. Though Narcissa had saved several lives by going to Severus and demanding his protection for Draco, and Draco himself could not conceive of what would have happened had she not asked for the Unbreakable Vow, she still carried a burden of guilt over it. Or, at least, a burden of self-loathing; she should have been more clever, more foreseeing, Draco knew she believed. Never mind that she had been fighting the horrors of close contact with Voldemort, having her husband in prison, and knowing that he would ask an impossible task of her son at the time.

"You intrigue me, Harry," Lucius murmured. "Please do tell me what made you think of my old associates."

"The _Sectumsempra_ curse was the first clue," said Harry. "And then I realized that various parts of the Mirror Maze do require knowledge of Healing magic—but most of the spells that compose it are reversible." He nodded to Narcissa. "I actually owe my realization to a comment Narcissa made about the headache curse she found on me."

"Headache curse?" Draco made sure to fling sharpness into his voice. Harry had to know that Draco would always react sharply to news that he had been in physical harm's way.

Harry turned and stared at him for long moments. Draco looked back, and, after a moment's hesitation, let the hurt he felt at knowing Harry had been in danger for months, for years, show in his face. Harry blinked and half-lowered his head, mouth pursed as if he'd have to think about this.

_Do, Harry, _Draco urged him silently. _Think about what kind of person would want you to be safe, would worry when you hurt yourself, and would want you to accept gifts. Is it such a stretch that I might love and value you? Can you judge me by my actions instead of your preconceptions?_

"Someone had cast a headache curse on Harry," said Narcissa, her voice soft and sweet to keep up the deception that Harry had betrayed himself instead of the curse being previous knowledge. "I should have banished it the moment he stepped through the Floo. I can only attribute the fact that I did not to the excitement over his arrival."

Harry gave a small shiver of his shoulders, as if he disliked the way Narcissa took the blame for not noticing the curse on herself, and then turned back to Lucius. "So your enemies don't have to have a Healer to cast that particular Mirror Maze. They only need someone who can cast the curses, the harmful magic, that's beneficial if reversed. Looking up the reversals would be easy enough for anyone with a modicum of talent at research and access to some books about the Dark Arts." He waved his wand, and the image of the sideways Mirror Maze he had used just before the attack of the Dark magic on Lucius appeared again. "For example, the spell that maps your body and exposes vulnerabilities? That's the one Healers use. It's considered a benign spell because it only creates the map to tell them where a disease or curse could spread next. But it exists in the opposite form as the Hunter's Curse, _Aucupo_. That greatly increases the chance of something going wrong at the weak points of the body. Dark wizards like to use that one to soften up their enemies before attacking from ambush."

Bitterness scored his voice like acid working on iron. Draco shifted his weight invisibly from one leg to the other. _What could teach him to think better of Dark wizards?_

"I have heard of the Hunter's Curse," Lucius said. There were slight lines around his eyes to give him the impression of hard concentration—habit, Draco knew. His father rarely showed his full intelligence in front of anyone. "I did not realize its connection to the body-mapping spell. But, as you said, it would not be difficult to discover that."

"Have you used it?" Harry asked.

Lucius looked at him without flinching. "Yes."

Harry's mouth set in a small, hard line, like someone condemned to chew on oysters for three days, but he continued speaking without inflection. "Did other Death Eaters?"

Lucius gave him a smile that had a tinge of approval to it, and moved the sheet out of the way, so that the dark skull and snake on his arm showed. Draco blinked. It was a tactic he would not have thought of, confronting Harry with the symbol of what he hated so that he could choose to accept it or snarl and leave. "Yes."

Harry nodded, though his eyes flicked across the Dark Mark as rapidly as a dreamer's closed ones. "Then what we want to look for are connections to the Death Eaters and uses of their research, rather than the involvement of Death Eaters themselves. No insult intended to present company," and he raised an eyebrow at Lucius, "but I think if any of them were actually involved, they would have revealed their presence by now. Patience was never their strong suit."

"They would have the more reason to destroy me, because it is mine," said Lucius. "Very well, Harry. I assume you'd like to know where some of the refuges were?"

And he spoke that line without a tremor, giving up knowledge that he had denied to Draco when Draco asked him. Draco kept his eyes on the bed to avoid tossing him a sour glance. _He does not favor Harry over you, _he reminded himself. _He's doing what he needs to win Harry's trust and loyalty. God knows that you don't need sibling rivalry to complicate the issues between you right now._

"Yes," said Harry. "Along with a list of what you think might have been stored there—books, wands, weapons—and the people who frequented them, so we can learn who had a chance to pick up on the knowledge. I'll also need to know how to secure records of visitors to Azkaban. It's possible someone spoke to Lestrange and gained the knowledge he or she needed to cast the curse that way."

"Almost certain." Lucius was looking at Harry with a new respect and interest. Draco understood the feeling. He had not realized that Harry could plan so well about things that did not concern his patients' health. Or could he plan this _because _he felt it concerned Lucius, and his Healer's mind would turn backwards and forwards seeking a way to eliminate the danger? Draco shook his head slightly. Every time he thought he understood Harry, had grasped his essential nature at last, Harry would do something else that disrupted that impression.

"Very well," Lucius continued. "I didn't leave Azkaban without making a few friends. If they remember the obligations of friendship—and very few forget such things when it comes to a Malfoy—then I should have the records of visitors to all former Death Eaters' cells within a day. In the meantime, I will make lists of the information on the refuges."

"You're well enough to do so?" Harry asked. There was a tenderness in his eyes that made a hook catch at Draco's insides. God damn it, he didn't want to be jealous of his _father _either.

Lucius smiled at him, the way he had smiled at Draco when he was eleven years old and excited about going to Hogwarts. "Thank you for your concern," he said. "You are behaving just as a son should to a father." Harry stared at him, nostrils flaring slightly, but didn't break out in protest. Draco reckoned that should be accounted progress. "But I can sacrifice a small bit of strength in the short term for a more secure footing in the long term."

Harry studied him as if searching for the truth of that, whilst Lucius Summoned a house-elf and an owl and prepared to write his letters. Draco only hoped that his father would remember his promise to write to his friends on Hogwarts' Board of Governors as well as the ones in Azkaban.

Then Harry turned and slipped out of the room with a nod to Narcissa. Perhaps he would have nodded to Draco and left him behind, too, but Draco followed him too closely to permit that to happen.

He had to correct Harry's course only a few times; Harry did seem to have learned the path through the maze of corridors and rooms to Lucius's chambers well. Harry, though, bristled and tensed all over, his head twitching like a captive horse's, and he turned around at the door of his own rooms to snap, "What?"

"May I come in?" Draco asked quietly.

"What can't you say to me here in the corridor that you can say in _my_ room?"

_Oh, yes, Harry. If you can learn to value possessions of your own, there may yet be hope for you. _Draco bestowed a softened look upon him, and Harry stared at him as if that had put him out of countenance. Then he seemed to realize why he had received that softened look. He scowled and folded his arms across his chest.

Greatly daring, Draco put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Nothing," he said. "But I have a fairly lengthy speech to make. It's easier to do that sitting down in _your _library." He wondered if Harry would notice his return emphasis.

Harry hissed under his breath like a kitten with scalded feet, and then moved his hand in a sweeping, elaborate gesture into the room. "If you will," he said.

Draco laughed. He hadn't exactly meant to laugh—of course Harry would be sure Draco was only making fun of him—but he saw no reason to hide the joy of the sound once it had started. Or his desire, for that matter, so he gave Harry a quick look and then let his arse sway a bit as he went into the room. He was sure a smile had darted across Harry's face, swift and unwilling.

It made him feel as though he had found a source of permanent leprechaun gold.

Harry followed Draco into the library and sat down behind a desk piled high with books. By now he was frowning again, but he raised an eyebrow like a pure-blood wizard cornered in his private rooms by an overly obsequious half-blood.

Draco sat with a nod and looked around the library for a moment, giving Harry the time to feel the strength and ease of the library wrapping around him, to settle into it and feel it as his domain. Then he sighed deeply and stared into Harry's eyes.

"Don't let me force you to tell me anything," Harry said.

Draco looked down with a faint smile, in part to mask his surprise at Harry's sarcasm. "Being honest is harder than I thought it would be," he said. "And yet you did it all the time in school." Though it went against every instinct he had, Draco remembered Narcissa's advice and spoke a little faster, which betrayed, will-he nill-he, the discomfort in his tone. "I was attracted to you at first only because you were there, and fit, and it's been a while since I shagged. The pressures of work, of studying." He gave a shrug to dismiss the idea, and then it grew heavy and he had to stop. "You know what it's like."

He had hoped Harry would say something, but he didn't, only shifted in his chair as if bored. Draco ground his teeth inaudibly and carried on. There would be some sacrifices, he could practically hear his mother murmuring to him, before Harry would be his.

"But I saw—I saw that you were what you always presented yourself as." Draco tried to wave a hand, but it dropped limply to his side. He looked away, wincing internally and wondering if weakness would plague all his gestures now that he had admitted it into some of them.. "The hero. The noble and self-sacrificing man who would do anything for anyone, even a man he hated."

"I wasn't that way when I was a teenager," Harry began, his voice weary with the ring of old annoyance. "You were righter about me than I like to think, when we were both teenagers. I only started learning dedication and real heroism when I became a mediwizard."

"But you know it now," Draco whispered, and turned back, fighting against the inches of his pride that encouraged him to continue to stare elsewhere. If he looked at Harry now, Harry was likely to see too much reality in his eyes, and Draco was accustomed to people using reality to forge weapons. "And that's what I decided I wanted for myself. I wanted to bind you more closely to the family, in case you got tired of taking care of Father whilst he was still sick."

Harry stared at him. "It's not flattering to hear that I was _right_."

Draco flinched against the sharp edge of his voice. _It doesn't sound very flattering, does it?_

"You were right then," said Draco. He clenched his fists beneath the table—lightly so as to betray no tension in his muscles—and let the words come. "But your speech the night you were taken off the case, before you left for hospital, convinced me. You wanted someone you could like. That made sense to me. And so I tried to become the kind of person you would like. Softer. More open with my emotions. That was easier when you were family and I didn't have to assume I was teaching one of our enemies curses that could be used against me later."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his face soft and lost. Draco had hardly dared to hope the mood would last when Harry narrowed his eyes and said, "And you thought ordering a house-elf around after me would make me like you more?"

This time, the truth was easier. "You need help, and that must balance indulging you," he said. "No one can pour their strength, their courage, their being, down a well forever without encouragement. You need replenishing. You look the way I did when I was studying for the first exam that would advance me in my mastery. I made myself sick and nearly failed because I was so certain I could pass it if I only stayed up and studied for a few more hours." _There is a kinship between us, Harry, a determination to succeed, an ambition that would have served you well had you followed me into Slytherin. Can you see it? Can you grant that it exists?_

"I don't have an exam to pass."

Draco felt free to narrow his own eyes now. Harry was ignoring their basic similarity in order to cling to semantics. "From what I've seen of you, you treat every case you take on as an exam you'll be killed for failing."

Harry folded his arms and glared at him. "Do you have anything pleasant to say? First you assure me my suspicions of you were correct and then you claim I'm in so much need I have to be coddled and taken care of like a child."

"Only because you were acting like a child," Draco said. "You obviously haven't been in the past few days. You let my mother take away your headache curse. You've talked to Rogers about how to behave as a Malfoy. You found out the information you'll need to cure Father without insane amounts of time spent studying." He smiled. "And you've got the correct amounts of food and sleep. You feel better, don't you?"

"It's not about what I feel," Harry said. His voice was the remote, lofty thing that made Draco want to shake him. "It's about what I can accomplish."

Draco seized Harry's wrists before he thought about what he was doing. Harry promptly tugged to get free. Draco stared into his eyes instead, his pulse and the words beating in his temples. _Yes, the Muggles did something to him. They had to have done it. Even an ordinary hero would think he was entitled to feelings. He would get angry at his enemies and rejoice in their downfall. All the other Gryffindors I know do. Something is wrong._

_And the twit refuses to listen to himself and hear the wrongness in his own words._

"You're more than a hero," Draco said, pitching his voice so Harry would listen. "You're more than a mediwizard. I'm attracted to those qualities, of course I am, but if you were a self-sufficient monolith, I wouldn't be. I want to be useful to _you_, too. I want to give you what _you_ need. A day ago that was better physical health. Now I think it's a sense of greater self-worth." He released Harry's right wrist, but only to fold two fingers under his chin and tilt his head to the side. Harry's eyes squirmed and darted in an effort to avoid his.

"You're still family even when you don't end the day with some daring achievement," Draco said. "I still like you even when you're at your most exasperating. I can live with your affection for Weasleys and Grangers." He couldn't help but smile. Compared to all the other exasperations that Harry had put him through in the past week, those affections were hardly noteworthy. "I'm sure we'll argue, as we've already done, but I'm prepared to put up with that. And I can't wait to bring out more of those parts of you I've only seen in passing: your sense of humor, your cleverness, your quickness at improvisation when something goes wrong. Though I hope to train you out of sacrificing your life at the first chance," he couldn't help adding. _That quality is attractive only in the abstract._

Harry shook his head.

"What now?" Draco asked. He was glad he had managed to hold back the snappish tone that had immediately welled up in his throat.

Harry looked to the side. "This is mad," he whispered. "People's lives don't change like that, this suddenly. You couldn't have formed an attachment to me this deep over a few days, and if you did, it was only because of gratitude, because I saved your father's life. It won't last."

_He's not pure-blood, he's not pure-blood, he's not pure-blood, _Draco reminded himself quickly, when indignation and rage made him want to throw Harry's hands aside and stalk out of the room. _He doesn't know what he's saying._

"You haven't been a Malfoy all your life," Draco said. "You still don't understand what we see in blood. Ask Rogers to tell you about that. He's a good source of information, because he's served several generations of the family and understands us well." He paused and wondered if the mention of one of Harry's old friends would be sufficient to catch his attention. Lucius had ranted more than once about how a twelve-year-old had tricked him out of a house-elf. "Not like that son of his, that Dobby."

Harry whipped back as if someone had offered him a case of dragonpox to cure. "Dobby was Rogers's _son_?"

"Yes," Draco said, and frowned at him. Concealing his delight was hard. "Don't tell me you never wondered where little house-elves came from."

"I put the question aside as not worth reconsidering," Harry snapped. "You can't—"

"The first time my life changed suddenly was when you rejected my friendship," said Draco. He shivered for a moment, feeling cold and damp. He had never meant to dig this deep and bring up these reflections, but he thought Harry was worth it. He _thought. _"Then my father went to Azkaban. And suddenly I was forced to save my family because the Dark Lord would kill them if I didn't. After a long year of terror, I discovered I couldn't kill and had to flee Hogwarts. Then there was another long year of terror, punctuated by constant little revelations, like the fact that my aunt was _mad_ or the fact that I didn't want you to die. And then I decided to be a Potions master overnight, and that turned out to be the best decision I could have made. And then Father got sick, and you saved his life."

He paused for effect. "My life has been all sudden choices for the last few years, Harry. Most of them related to you in some way. If I hadn't developed the ability to adapt to those choices, and accept that the feelings born of them were lasting and real, I never would have survived."

Harry worried his lip. The sight of his teeth on flesh—which Draco had imagined in the last few days, though never as they now were—made Draco harden in seconds.

"Stop that," he whispered, because he had to say something. He leaned in and pushed his thumb against Harry's teeth, urging them backwards and off his lip. "If you want it bitten, let me do it."

And then he brushed his mouth, deliberately open, against Harry's lips. Harry swallowed and sat still, of course not opening his mouth.

That didn't matter. If there was one thing Draco was confident he knew how to do, it was kiss. He kept his own mouth open, and his eyes, and used his tongue in soft, delicate lashings against Harry's lips and the corners of his gums. Harry sat frozen until Draco had pulled away and strolled towards the door, stroll carefully casual so that he could conceal his erection.

He paused with his hand on the library doorframe and murmured, "I'm going to have you if you'll have me. I'm going to do my best to help you and show you why you should like me. I've made that as clear as I know how." His smile deepened; he could not help it, with Harry's taste inside his mouth for the first time. "Any other questions?"

He remembered, later, that he really shouldn't leave openings like that, because if it were possible to embarrass them both, then Harry would do it.

"Do you have a Dark Mark?" he blurted.

A spasm of pain. Harry was trying to see him as an evil Death Eater, heartless enough to ignore, even after—even after—

But just as his mother often did with his father, as he sometimes managed to do with her, Draco seized the moment and changed it about so that he was the one in control. He reached teasingly towards the sleeve of his robe. Harry sniffed air like a llama and leaned forwards.

Draco dropped his hand and winked. "I think," he said, "that this is something you should find out for yourself, when you have occasion to look more closely at my skin." And he bowed and left the room without looking back.

His body was abuzz, and his mind was aflame, presenting him with vision after vision of their bodies striving together in bed, tongues tangling fiercely and their breath mingling between them like dragons'.

_How sweet to have him in bed. How much sweeter still to lure him and tempt him until he cannot help himself, and comes of his own free will._


	19. Malfoys Go A Hunting

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Nineteen—Malfoys Go A-Hunting_

Narcissa wound her hair close to her head, and gazed at herself in the mirror. As it was, the hair would bunch and knot, and attract the stares of everyone in hospital who was not utterly insensible because of potions. Of course, she did not intend to go looking like this, though she would have to use subtle glamours in order to evade the watch spells that St. Mungo's contained. They were not entirely unused to patients trying to slip away from their wards, at least in the case of dangerously insane ones.

She murmured two spells, one that would cast the appropriate glamour and one that would disguise the presence of the glamour. Her hair shimmered and came back a slightly duskier gold, the color of a dark-haired witch who had not perfected the dying spells. Narcissa smiled into the mirror. It was an odd but interesting and helpful fact of life that few people would think their way to a second layer of deception. Rather than assuming she was hiding blonde hair behind dark behind blonde, they would simply accept what their eyes told them about the failed dye.

She cast a few more spells that would smooth out the heavy, ungraceful knots of her hair, caused by the binding, and then changed her impeccable robes for faded but elegant ones in a faint lilac color. Rogers appeared as she was changing and folded his arms, eying her in disapproving silence. He didn't like anything a Malfoy family member did that affected their appearance negatively, even in the interests of safety.

"Mistress Narcissa is to be returning quickly," he said. "Tomorrow is Master Harry's first formal dinner with the family."

"I know," Narcissa said. "I was the one who gave you the instructions for its preparation."

Rogers might have looked abashed then, save that he was never abashed. He sniffed and tilted his ears forwards. "Rogers cannot approve this mission," he announced gravely. "Mistress Narcissa is leaving the safety of walls and wards. Mistress Narcissa has perhaps not thought this through."

Narcissa found Rogers' attitude amusing, but she had never permitted him to interfere in anything she might do. She gazed at him mildly, therefore, and in time his eyes dropped and he gave a long-suffering sigh.

"How are Harry's lessons in being a Malfoy proceeding?" Narcissa asked, turning around before the mirror once more to admire the effect. Yes, she looked like a witch who had some money and some magic but not much skill at either dressing up to visit a relative. Most people going into St. Mungo's wouldn't take a second glance at her.

Of course, her disguise had to be good enough to fool the ones who _would._

"Master Harry is learning quickly," Rogers said, and gladness touched his voice. Narcissa chuckled into her hand and smoothed her hair down again. She wondered if Harry knew that there were few people who managed to impress Rogers within a few days; it had taken _her _some time, when she married into the Malfoys. Of course, whether Harry would be gratified at the approval was another thing. "He asks intelligent questions and applies his lessons." He paused in that way that meant he was meditating adding some extra information.

"Rogers," Narcissa murmured, apparently absorbed in her reflection, "you once received standing orders to tell me anything you noticed immediately, even if I had specifically asked you not to trouble me with news. My eternal rationality is of more importance than my momentary whims."

"Master Draco has given Master Harry a gift," Rogers responded obediently. "A large mirror that reflects his body in astounding proportions. Master Harry does not like it. He tries to avoid gazing into it as much as possible, and, when he cannot, he pushes his hair flat over his scar and scuttles like a scuttling thing."

"Not surprising, perhaps," Narcissa said, "given his past." It was sometimes worthwhile thinking aloud in front of house-elves, simply to hear what they would say.

"Master Harry does not only avoid his scar when he can," said Rogers, and sternness rang in his tone. Rogers did not approve of ignoring power of any kind, especially when the person trying to do the ignoring was a Malfoy. "He avoids the sight of his face. He treats his body as if it were a mere machine for the bearing of his soul."

"He acts like a house-elf?" Narcissa met Rogers's eyes in the mirror.

"Mistress Narcissa is pleased to joke," Rogers said stoically. "House-elves is not having souls. But yes, Master Harry acts like one of us." He stamped one foot, a sign of incredible agitation for him. "He should _not. _He is a _Master._"

"Give Draco this information," Narcissa said. "He would like to know."

Rogers inclined his head humbly and vanished. Narcissa checked herself one more time in the mirror and fixed the memory of the magical signature she had absorbed from Harry's headache curse in the forefront of her mind. She would have to be careful when she entered the hospital to watch for her enemies, but also to sort that signature from the thousands of floating others that Healers and patients might project.

Of course, she was confident she could do it, or she never would have volunteered.

_One does not try to achieve things beyond one's power—a lesson that neither my husband nor either of my sons has learned yet._

She let her robes swirl behind her as she departed, to test the effect.

* * *

"Mistress Narcissa is saying to be telling you what Master Harry is doing."

Draco was glad he hadn't yet dropped the kelp into the nutrient potion he was brewing; that would have created an expensive and time-consuming mess to clean up. He turned around with a frown and saw Rogers standing behind him, arms folded and ears flopping as he scowled at Draco. Draco wondered idly if it was the message from Narcissa—which he would have had time to think about as he was delivering it—or Harry's behavior that had upset him.

"And what is Master Harry doing?" Draco let his hand rest on the table again and gave Rogers his full attention.

"Being stupid," Rogers announced. Draco gave him a tolerant look, and Rogers understood without an order that he would have to be more specific. "Not taking care of himself. But also avoiding the mirror that Master Draco sent as a gift, scowling at his reflection, and acting embarrassed."

Draco blinked. "Not merely covering his scar?"

"He does that too, to avoid his power and wealth and fame." Rogers gave a nod of his head, sharp as a bird pecking at seed, so show clearly what he thought of _that _ridiculous act. "But he also does not seem to realize that someone like Master Draco might value him for his beauty." He took a step forwards and peered at Draco intently. "You will be sleeping together soon? So that Master Harry might learn better?"

Draco felt his cheeks flush fiercely, and coughed. "It might take more than that to change Harry's mind, Rogers," he muttered.

"Your eyes are being his mirror." Rogers nodded. "You will teach him better." He paused. "Shall Rogers remove the mirror?"

"No," said Draco firmly. "Leave it where it is. He'll get used to his own looks sooner or later, and I intend to spoil him enough that he'll accept it. Besides, when he spends the night in my rooms, he'll never sleep well if he's embarrassed by mirrors."

Rogers gave him a strong smile and vanished again. Draco sat down in a chair and shook his head.

_He's only had a few years to worry about that scar as a disfigurement alone, and for most of that time, he's been surrounded by friends who really did love him for himself as well as admirers determined to make him acknowledge their existence. Would that give him such an overwhelming self-consciousness? Or, no, hatred of his looks. Self-consciousness he might have, and it could still be endearing._

_But someone taught him to hate the way he looks. Someone to whom it was abnormal. I know he inherited those eyes from his mother, but I would be extremely surprised if anyone in his Muggle family had them. Those are the sort of eyes that belong on a wizard._

Draco rose slowly to his feet. This was the first specific crime that he'd had to charge the Muggles with, and even reminding himself that he might be mistaken and Harry's home life as a child might have been normal—which was _faintly _possible—couldn't calm him down.

_They will suffer for this._

* * *

Narcissa walked through the hospital corridors with her eyes lowered. It was easy to take on the protective coloring of the atmosphere in St. Mungo's, the mourning and the impatience, the weariness and the despair. She had only to place a sufficiently melancholy look on her features and move with stately grace, and everyone's eyes slid away from her as if she weren't worth considering.

_For some of them, I am not, _Narcissa thought, leaning against a wall as she watched an elderly female Healer pass her, juggling sheaves of notes and vials of a bright green potion. Her magical signature pulsed against the one in Narcissa's memory, reassuringly neutral. _Those who did not harm my family have nothing to fear from me._

She closed her eyes and sighed, in reality casting a non-verbal spelled that would sharpen her sensitivity to signatures and auras, but to all appearances resting from a tiresome encounter. A few people passing her lowered their voices respectfully.

Narcissa kept her eyes shut and listened; that sometimes revealed more about a context than the sense of sight could, with the anxious human perception darting just behind it, anxious to organize the visions into some coherent whole. And what she heard above all—in the sound of tapping footsteps, in the voices of Healers coaxing patients who needed therapy along or conversing with permanent residents or whispering sad tales to each other, in the moans and sobs of those living with unendurable pain that spells and potions could do little to ease—was the noise of _labor._

It was no wonder that Harry had come to them with every self-sacrificing instinct sharpened and with his faculty for appreciating the luxuries of life so dull. He was surrounded by people who lived like that on purpose, and who of course would encourage their comrades to behave the same way. Harry would have an extra factor weighing on him, too; he would be anxious to show that he had not been hired merely because of his fame, and that he did have the strength to be someone other than a killer of Dark Lords.

He had chosen the career on his own. Narcissa knew that. But she thought now that it was probably the worst thing he could have done when it came to giving himself mental stability.

"Are you lost?"

The alarms in Narcissa's mind exploded into shining sparks. She blinked her eyes open as if dazed, and found herself gazing at the man whose signature pulsed with the magic that had cast the headache curse on Harry.

"My name is Virgo Emptyweed," he said, with a small bow, as if he had realized just now that she might like an introduction. "Healer Emptyweed." He laid a faint emphasis on the title, and puffed out a little as he put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you need a Calming Draught? You look as if you've received bad news."

Narcissa sniffed and wiped a hand across her face. She never would have performed such a gesture in her own features, but she did not mind destroying the beauty of a borrowed mask. "My nephew," she whispered. "The Healers have confirmed that they can do nothing for him, and he's going home this afternoon. Probably to die." She was an expert at giving what sounded like plausible details, but if Healer Emptyweed had tried to trace her story, he would have run into so many individual stories that could be hers that he'd give up soon enough. There must be many young male patients in the last short while who had been sent home, and grief could exaggerate the seriousness of their situations.

"I'm sorry." The Healer hesitated in a way that was probably his trying to make himself gracious. Narcissa thought it pathetic. The reason Harry fit so well into their family was that his graciousness was _real_, a product of the sympathy he reached out to everyone with. "Are you sure that you don't need a Calming Draught?" he repeated, insistently.

_You would probably try to take advantage of me whilst I labored under its influence, _Narcissa thought, and then scolded herself. As angry as she was with the man, as eager to get revenge on him for hurting Harry, still she had to see things clearly. That was the best means of getting her revenge on him, after all. She sniffed once more and straightened. "I should move on," she said. "My husband will be fetching me soon."

"Your husband." Sure enough, Healer Emptyweed's voice had cooled. He shifted backwards a step, but kept his eyes fixed on her face. "Of course. Forgive me if I can't offer more than a Calming Draught. We lost a Healer recently, and we're overworking ourselves trying to make up for his neglect of his duty." His voice had frozen.

_You brought him up yourself, _was Narcissa's first thought.

_You have turned him into a Healer in your stories? How very predictable of you, and not as a recognition of his skill, _was her second.

_And of course you would call it neglect of his duties, rather than his following where his heart led him, _was her third.

She was glad that she did not need to remain long with Healer Emptyweed, because she would perhaps do something hasty and ill-advised. She lowered her eyelids demurely instead. "Would that be Harry Potter?" she asked. "I didn't mean to pry, but I knew he left the hospital recently to attend the Malfoys." She flavored her voice with some eagerness, as if she wished to discuss anything but the grief she would carry away from hospital with her.

"Yes." Healer Emptyweed was hissing now. "He always thought he was greater than he was, simply because of his past."

_You are not a good observer, or you are a good liar, _Narcissa thought clinically. _I have not decided which yet. _"I had thought he was a mediwizard, though, and not a Healer," she said in confusion. "I remember remaking to my husband how unusual it was that he wouldn't take the highest career available."

"He was." The Healer had stiffened his spine, and he had hooked his hands together behind his back the way Lucius did when he was trying to avoid drawing his wand and destroying something. Narcissa watched the Healer's wand, the way she never watched Lucius's. There was a chance that Emptyweed might know spells that could do her bodily harm, unlike her husband. "Forgive me for misspeaking. The place he took—the privileges he demanded and the pride with which he asserted himself—sometimes made me think of him as of higher rank. And of course the hospital administrators sometimes demanded that we refer to him as a Healer, so that no one would think we were prejudiced and deliberately denying him his rights because of envy."

_That is your problem and your explanation, not that of the hospital administrators. _Narcissa could only conclude that Emptyweed must be a talented Healer, or else he had encouraged Harry's ridiculous modesty complex until Harry thought protesting his treatment would be equivalent to clamoring for more privileges. There was no other reason for Harry to have put up with this load of bollocks.

A pulse of self-pity briefly traveled through her. _The damage Emptyweed has inflicted on Harry will make healing him more difficult for me._

Then she shook her head. No, she would not regret that. They had Harry now, and they didn't plan on letting him go—and if Narcissa read her son's eyes clearly, Harry would soon have a reason besides Lucius's healing and her own kindness to stay in the Manor. His strengths were mixed up with his weaknesses. If he had been prouder of himself, stronger than the flaws that plagued him, he would perhaps not have agreed to leave his position and come with them, or to heal Lucius without regarding the past.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Emptyweed had thought the shake of her head was directed at him. Narcissa gave him a cool smile, the only way she had of saying, at the moment, that he would never occupy such a large portion of her feelings. "No," she said. "Only that I am glad I have never met the Chosen One, if he is so arrogant."

Emptyweed shot a glance over his shoulder, perhaps looking for one of the Healers who had made Harry's time here tolerable, and then leaned towards her and lowered his voice. "He's much more conceited than anyone will ever have told you. The reporters won't bring it up to his face, because they want continued legal access to him, and he could pressure the Minister into forbidding that. He and the Minister are friends, you know. And as for those companions of his in the war, the Weasleys—" His mouth pursed, and he shook his head. "I really do believe they encourage him in it. They're not very respectful to the Healers when they visit the hospital."

_ Blind, _Narcissa decided. _He must know Harry well enough to realize that he wouldn't think to seek a magical reason for the headache curse, but he does not know _me. _He has not even troubled to ask me for my name. Perhaps I am someone from the Ministry who is also Harry's friend. A poor observer, and that must impact his work as a Healer. _

She toyed with a fantasy of getting Emptyweed sacked and giving his post to Harry. But that was neither a vicious enough revenge for her nor something she particularly wanted to happen. Harry should have as little encouragement as possible to leave the Manor for some months, until he had settled in and begun to believe he deserved what they were giving him.

She would find a vengeance subtle and complicated enough to satisfy her and vicious enough to punish him yet. There was no need to hurry. She gave Emptyweed a meaningless smile that nevertheless puffed him up and began to walk down the corridor, her head lifted, as if the conversation had elevated her spirits.

"Wait!"

Narcissa turned around, her head cocked slightly and her nostrils flared. The expression had the effect she had hoped it would have on Emptyweed, who backed away a step before he could help himself. Even when Narcissa said, "Yes?" in as mild and encouraging a tone as possible, he had to clear his throat a few times before he could continue.

"I was wondering—you never told me your name."

"Oh, but Virgo." Narcissa purred the name, and watched his face turn a dusky red. "Why let the mystery that consumes you end? It's all very well to tell yourself that you would rather know the truth, but you were disappointed even when you found out that I had a husband. Why disappoint yourself further with my true name, which surely is not equal to the beauty that you've built up in your head?"

Emptyweed stared at her in wonder. "How do you know so perfectly what I'm thinking?" he whispered.

It was time to depart, before he either accused her of Legilimency or began to think more deeply about her than he should. So Narcissa gave him yet another mysterious smile and managed to whisk away before he could think to ask any more questions.

_

* * *

Lucius: _

_To say that I was surprised to hear from you is an understatement, and your particular request startled me still more. The rumors have been saying that you are on the brink of death for weeks. And then there is the news that you have adopted Harry Potter into your family…_

_Oh, you may object to the phrasing. But it will end that way, whether or not Potter knows that yet, now that you have him within your home. I am interested in how you will do it, you clever bastard. The greater objection would be his honor and ideals, I should think, rather than his fame and his friends. Rumor has it that he does not particularly like the former, and the latter do not lead him so much as follow._

_Of course, we all know that rumor may be wrong._

_If what your careful hints reveal is true—and you have never been that good at hinting, Lucius, you may as well know that—then I ought to help you out of a sheer sense of obligation to my sense of the fitness of things. It is not seemly that a wizarding child was raised by abusive Muggles. And to have it be one we all owe so much to…well, perhaps this is a chance to repay the debt, in a fashion that his friends and the general public would not be able to manage. _

_But I am not what I ought to be, and never was. Therefore, if I take up the investigation of Potter's student records, your offer is most appreciated. I find myself in need of a vial of Jason's Draught._

_Good luck, my friend, save of course in those efforts where I should be inevitably led to oppose you. _

_Edward Leeds._

Lucius folded the letter and put it down on the bed next to him with a smile he knew would be thin. Dear Edward. He had always been that mixture of flattery, humor, and gentle threats. Even the mention of Jason's Draught was impressive in its own way. Edward was doubtless intending to pursue a course of vengeance against another man who had become too emphatic in his objections when he found Edward trying to seduce his wife.

Lucius shut his eyes and gloried for a moment in the sensation of power that had rushed through him when he read the letter. Part of it was the strength that had always touched him when he realized other people—in this case, Edward—were acting as he had told them to act. It made him feel like one of the great predators, the dragons or the killer whales, whose mere motions sent warning vibrations through the air and the water ahead of them. Lucius had always seen himself as a predator not because he particularly liked the thought of destroying others, but because he liked the _effect _he produced on others better than he liked being forced to act.

But part of the power was new. And he mouthed the new taste carefully, moving it around on his tongue like a glob of the sweet golden syrup that had been his special treat for telling a particularly clever lie as a child.

_The power of being Harry Potter's adoptive father. _

Oh, yes, they would need to alter their stance towards the Malfoys, the former Death Eaters and the politically aware Gryffindors and the Ministry officials and the Aurors and those who had remained carefully neutral or in other countries during the war. Harry himself would probably never notice some of the effects. He was not that kind of person.

Lucius was.

And both to preserve Harry's life and innocence and to use the power he gave them as it should be used—both for a good motive and a bad one, as Harry would put it—then Lucius would become a force in politics again as he had not been since before the war.

Lucius smiled. It was good to return to the kind of mental and emotional world in which he felt most at home.


	20. Strongly Shining

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty—Strongly Shining _

Narcissa sighed and pushed another book of Dark Arts curses away from her, shaking her head. It should have been easy to find a curse that would repay Emptyweed for the agony he had caused her son. She had seen him close, and knew there was nothing redeeming about him except perhaps his Healing talent, which she had never seen in action. Any revenge that took that away would be justified.

And there were spells that would accomplish that. Spells for the draining of power. Spells that would make the headaches he had inflicted on Harry look like a love-bite.

But whenever she let her eyes fall on the printed words, it wasn't them Narcissa saw. Instead, she pictured how Harry's face would look if he ever learned that it was _Narcissa_ who had caused that pain to Emptyweed.

Her son…

Her _other _son, Narcissa amended in her mind, laying her head against the back of her chair and half-lidding her eyes so that she saw the gleaming colors of her room as a dizzying kaleidoscopic swirl, lived by a different code of morals than the one Narcissa was used to acknowledging. She found him an intriguing puzzle, and not an easily-guessed one. It was entirely possible that he would not want someone to take vengeance for him, even if he had suffered heavily at the hands of someone else.

And would he agree that he had suffered? He had put up with the headaches—not gracefully, but he had put up with them. And after seeing the hospital and the ways of those who worked there, Narcissa thought that Harry would think endurance a prime value. What mattered was bearing pain, not being free of it.

Perhaps he would even say that no one was _ever _free of pain, so only endurance could exist.

Narcissa twitched her head and sat up in irritation. It was one thing to slip into the mold of Harry's mind so that he might figure out his thoughts, but she would not start thinking that way herself. It was all too seductive a pattern. It convinced the thinker that he was doing the right thing at all times. It was no wonder Harry had fallen victim to it. Narcissa had learned one thing for certain from her observations of Harry so far, and that was his passionate, burning need to do the right thing.

Later, perhaps, he could be brought to acknowledge that unthinking compliance with one set of rules was not the way to do that.

For now, Narcissa, Draco, and Lucius would have to wreathe the good they intended to do him in coils of "evil" behavior, and make Harry think that they were acting just as he had always expected the Malfoys to act. He'd look away, content that they behaved as they did out of self-interest, and not see how they conspired to heal him.

Narcissa almost smiled.

_A conspiracy to heal someone. Not something I believe I have ever been involved in._

So she put the Dark Arts books aside, and set herself instead to thinking of how she could help Harry fit in, be comfortable, and become a part of the family almost without realizing it. If Harry was so inclined to endure and put up with things as he found them, then he would eventually learn to put up with comfort.

*

Draco bent over the sheet of parchment that Lucius had handed him, his breath coming fast. Not even his father's news that they owed this copy of Harry's student records to Edward Leeds, who would demand payment in Jason's Draught, a fiendishly complicated potion, stopped his excitement.

He had found what he hoped he would find—and more.

The record did indeed contain the names of Harry's Muggle relatives and their address, or at least the address they'd been living at when Harry was in school. Along with that came more than he'd dared to dream of: an assessment of Harry's physical condition when he arrived at the beginning of each year, or a few weeks afterwards. He knew that Madam Pomfrey had performed those assessments when high-risk students found their way to the infirmary, but he hadn't been sure they would be kept in the same place.

_Evidence of long-term malnutrition. Shyness around others. Distrust of adults. Low self-esteem. Difficulty understanding his own place in the world or how other wizards regard him. A grasping after magic._

The last two sentences were underlined. Draco half-closed his eyes and envisioned the mediwitch writing them with a concerned frown on her face, as she wondered about the spectacle of a Savior of the Wizarding World who didn't understand his fame and who took to magic like a child to sweets, rather than a child to a birthright.

_They did do something to him. I know that no more than occasional wizards can have had contact with him before he came to Hogwarts. He as good as told the papers, multiple times, that that was Dumbledore's plan: for him to grow up at a distance from our world, so that knowledge of his own fame wouldn't become arrogance. And I think it's likely to be true, because he was saying that to defend Dumbledore, and not to give more details about his Muggle relatives. _

Draco shivered and opened his eyes. He could hear breaking bones and screams if he concentrated.

Except that he couldn't go that far, because Harry would hate him if he discovered it.

Draco sighed longingly. All right, then. He would take some other form of vengeance. Besides, it would help if he could be sure about what Harry had suffered. Evidence of psychological abuse was annoyingly non-specific.

Of course, it would be enough for vengeance that the Dursleys—Draco sneered at the common Muggle name on the report, and liked to think that even Madam Pomfrey's hand, recording the name, had slanted with disapproval—had starved him. It at least explained why he regarded food as a matter of indifference, as fuel rather than a feast of tastes. Draco would help him to overcome that.

And the formal dinner his mother had planned for tomorrow would be a good place to start.

*

Lucius did have to admire the bloody clever set-up his wife had chosen for this dinner.

First, she was using the most formal dining room in the house, the one wearing a medley of pale colors that emphasized the darkness of the oak table in the middle. Lucius didn't think Harry would appreciate the contrast on an aesthetic level, but then, it wasn't his sense of beauty they were courting. It was his comfort in this environment. Narcissa believed he had made some advancements, after the way he had acted in Lucius's bedroom a few days ago, because he had been receiving lessons on Malfoy conduct from Rogers. They would use the formality to test him, to learn what lessons he had absorbed and which ones he had imperfectly learned as yet.

Second, Narcissa sat at the head of the table, with Lucius on her left hand and Draco on her right. Harry seemed to trust his wife the most of anyone in the house, and it would reassure him to see her in a position of power.

Third, there was no place set for Harry. Another test, to see if he was comfortable enough to ask after one, or demand it.

And fourth, Narcissa had made sure the house-elves selected Harry's robes for the evening. He would have no excuse not to come because he didn't have clothes fine enough.

And, Lucius understood when Harry appeared in the doorway of the dining room and stood staring down the table at them in the muted glow from the walls, there was yet another reason for the house-elves commanding the robe choice. Draco's eyes flashed with ill-concealed interest and intent. Narcissa was not above helping her first son seduce the second, but she also, obviously, wanted to make sure that Draco would not back away in the middle of the seduction and undo their careful work to make Harry part of the family.

Plots within plots. Plans within plans. Lucius smiled and touched the outside of Narcissa's palm under the table, in appreciation. She half-turned her head, and he saw her smile dart across her face and vanish underneath it again like a lizard burrowing in sand.

It was why he had married her.

*

If Draco had been left in charge of dressing Harry, he would have selected dark green robes, to match his eyes and bring out their unusual brilliancy. Or perhaps simple black. That would have emphasized his pale skin, complemented his dark hair, and made the eyes stunning in another way.

But the house-elves had chosen gray robes that made Harry look as if he were wrapped in shadows as he stood on the threshold of the dining room, head back and eyes bright and wary. The color harmonized with the ones around them and wrapped Harry in velvet and a not-unpleasing cobweb fragility, belied by the strength Draco knew he possessed. He looked as if he had melted out of moonlight to grace their dinner party.

Draco had to control himself sharply, because otherwise he would have plunged forwards to touch and take and possess, and he knew that would be too impulsive for these delicate circumstances. He settled for rising to his feet, smiling at Harry, and drawing out the chair next to him.

He thought he saw his father frown as he did so. He serenely ignored that. Indeed, for the next few minutes, he intended to behave as if he and Harry were alone in the room, because that was what he wanted to do and what the situation called for. His parents could turn away if they didn't want to watch.

Draco half-expected Harry to run; he had tensed when he entered the dining room, maybe because he didn't have a place already set. He expected, at best, a squint before Harry came forwards and accepted his offer.

Instead, Harry strode in as if he and Draco had met for the first time and wrung his hand hard enough to make the bones creak.

"Thank you," he said, in a voice that sounded as if he thought he would be judged on resonance. "I'm not used to treatment like this, but in trying not to take it for granted, I think I went too far in the opposite direction."

He didn't even have enough time to let Draco get over _that _shock before he bowed his head, staring at Draco with burning eyes, and flicked his tongue lightly against Draco's skin

Draco felt his eyes shine and deepen, and his free hand, locked on the back of Harry's chair, shook as if he had a palsy. It was an effort not to reach out with the one Harry had just licked—he had _licked _it, he had willingly touched Draco in a _sexual _manner—and grab the back of Harry's head, hauling him into a kiss.

But that would indeed be too much, as ecstatic as Draco was at the moment, as half-sure as he was that Harry would welcome the gesture.

"You're welcome," he whispered, and let his voice shake, too, so that Harry could see how much he had affected Draco. He deserved that honesty.

Harry smiled at him again and sat down in the chair, and Draco pushed it in, resisting the urge to tangle his fingers with Harry's hair. _Not time yet. _When he sat down, however, it was in a position that would easily allow him to see Harry. He wouldn't deny himself that.

Nor did he make his movements to pick up the forks and knives as fast as usual. Harry had cast the table one bewildered glance; Draco didn't want to confuse him now, when they were getting on so well. He would give Harry some clues as to table manners.

The courses came and went. Draco couldn't have said what the first one was, because he still couldn't take his eyes off Harry's face. But he noticed when they had bread with butter and a string of butter dripped on Harry's robes. Harry grimaced in a way that said he should have expected that and tried to swab it up.

Draco could, perhaps, have stopped himself from moving when he noticed that butter coated Harry's wrist as well as the cloth. But it would have been akin to stopping an earthquake. Nor could he keep from whispering, "May I?"

Harry flushed and darted a glance at Draco's parents. Draco grinned, not needing to look. Lucius and Narcissa would be studiously ignoring everything that happened across the table from them, as long as Draco kept within certain limits. Boldness was its own answer to awkward questions, and Harry had been bold from the beginning. Of course Draco needed to do the same, or risk having Harry think he was weak.

Not that Harry would think that, anyway.

Draco was exhilarated with more than the chance to touch Harry. He was thinking in two modes at once, the Malfoy one and the clear-sighed, simple way Harry saw the world, and they braided and danced in his head, spiraling paths of light.

Of course, by now Harry's eyes were so wide that he looked like he might faint. So Draco whispered to reassure him, "Oh, I can't do what I'd really like to, not in company. But that doesn't matter." He drew his wand and trailed it softly up the sleeve of Harry's robe, Vanishing the butter.

Harry lowered his head and fixed his eyes on the robe and wrist where the butter had been, giving one slow, enormous blink and then another. It was evident from the fierce flush of his face that he'd been thinking Draco might lick it up.

"There," Draco said, and angled his head to brush Harry's wrist with his cheek before he slipped back into his chair. "All better." He added a purring tone to his voice that Harry had better damn well appreciate.

"You approve of the robes, then?" Harry murmured.

_Merlin and the Seven Dead Wonders, _Draco thought, staring into Harry's eyes and seeing the darting uncertainty there. _He's so uneasy about his looks that he imagines house-elves would dress him so as to make him ugly._

"You have no idea how you look, either," he said. He _had _to say something; the words would cut his throat if he kept them inside. "I'll help cure that, don't worry."

It would have to go further than that, he understood a moment later. He had a _need _to reassure Harry, but Harry might let himself be embarrassed. So he looked across the table, where his mother was feeding his father from a fork. Harry coughed and promptly stared at his plate.

Draco bent down until he could touch his tongue to Harry's lips. Harry stared at him in silent fascination, his blush so red now that Draco thought he could have found him by it under a full moon.

_Let him know how appealing I find him. _"I'm learning how you taste," Draco whispered. "I hope you don't mind my going slowly. I prefer to appreciate the favors individually."

Harry swallowed, his blush grew fiercer, and he had to stare at his food to recover for minutes after that. Draco knew he was doing it to keep from thinking about his embarrassment, or looking at Lucius and Narcissa, but gradually his movements slowed and he actually _savored _the tastes of the fruit and fish and soup he swallowed. He uttered a tiny sigh when he finished the candied apples that made Draco thrust his hips involuntarily towards Harry. He had long since hardened, simply from watching Harry's tongue dart across his lips to pick up the crumbs of bread and butter and sugar.

Draco could have watched Harry eating, and enjoying what he ate, for months.

Of course, that was the moment his father had to ruin it all.

"Harry."

Harry looked up at Lucius, and his unselfconscious pleasure fell away. "Sir," he said. Lucius gave him an annoyed glance, and Draco wanted to fall out of his chair because Lucius was _showing _his annoyance, but Harry only smiled. "Lucius," he said. "You have the information you owled about?"

"Yes." Lucius's mouth grew tight as he clapped. Draco marveled in silence as a house-elf appeared next to Harry and handed some letters over. His father was following Narcissa's advice better than Draco had at first, showing his emotions so Harry could learn to know and trust him, when he construed most emotion as vulnerability. It might take Lucius a moment to grasp the necessity of a new action, but when he did, he moved to undertake that action with a purity and grace that humbled Draco. "And I must admit, what I learned disturbed me."

Harry bent his head over the paper, and Draco found another pleasure. Harry was a responsive reader, too, and he didn't believe in hiding his emotions for any reason whatsoever. He swore steadily under his breath as he read, and his face turned red and pale and sharp with annoyance by turns. He once even clenched a fist and drummed it on the table next to his plate. Draco wondered for a moment what his face would look like when they were making love, utterly transparent with the feelings flitting over it, and his hips thrust again.

Harry swept a hand through his hair, finally, and sat back as if he would like to set the letters on fire with just his gaze. "I see the Ministry's tradition of corruption marches on unchecked," he muttered.

"Then all the better that we'll bring justice where they've failed to," said Draco. _Let Harry take warning from that. We protect our own, and that means him, too._

Harry glanced at him. Draco had arranged himself so that he had his hands folded behind his head, a vulnerable posture—but not when contrasted with his eyes, which he knew were burning ice. Harry quivered a bit, and tilted his head to the side, his expression bright and curious and intrigued. Draco wanted to preen.

"What specifically do you find disturbing?" Harry asked, glancing at Lucius. "Do you have any idea who the woman might have been?"

_Woman. _Draco concealed a sigh. Of course, his father had not told him the content of the letters yet. He had insisted that it be shared with Harry first. But from the steady way Narcissa looked at her husband, she knew.

"No," said Lucius. "And that is the first worrisome thing." He leaned heavily back in his own chair, his brow bearing a faint sheen of sweat. Draco watched the expression on his mother's face, and wavered on the edge of reassurance. "The second is that I never once thought about someone visiting Lestrange in prison, or about his having knowledge dangerous to me. Someone has outthought me. I do not like that."

"Do you have the information about the Death Eater refuges?" Harry asked.

Draco took a deep breath to control his jealousy as he watched another elf appear with another stack of parchment. This was the information that his father had never given him, insisting that it was almost valueless after the war, and that in any case Draco would not understand half the code it was written in. _I would wager he translated it for Harry, though. _

Harry ran quickly down the lists. Draco let himself forget his irritation in the darting of those brilliant eyes and the wrinkle of the frown lines that spread over his head. Now and then Harry murmured a name to himself, memorizing it. He was so engaged and so alert that Draco wondered for a moment what would happen if he put a hand over the papers Harry looked at; he would probably slap Draco's hand away without even thinking about it.

Then Harry sat straight up in his chair and stopped breathing. Draco hated the immediate fixed, wild stare of his eyes. Harry shouldn't look at anyone or anything except him like that.

"What is it, Harry?" Lucius asked, once, and then again. Harry didn't react. Draco reached out and put a hand on his back. Then he leaned towards him. He would support Harry, no matter what he had discovered in the parchments, what terrible news he had to impart. He doubted he could do anything else, especially when Harry dropped his head onto Draco's shoulder briefly. This kind of trust and need was too precious.

Draco had long thought that people who needed others were weak. Now he was learning the difference, he thought. The need of the strong was inherently different from the need of the feeble.

And now Harry was taking too long to return to the real world after he had made his gesture of need, so Draco tugged on his hair and pulled him in so that their faces were touching, forehead to forehead. Draco's brow rested against the scar that had saved the wizarding world. "Tell us," he murmured. "No burden is so terrible that the effect does not lessen when it is shared."

Harry's eyes closed in one steady blink, as though to refute that, and then he looked at Lucius and said, "How much dreambane was at this refuge?"

"Which one?" Lucius frowned for a moment.

Draco's mind was springing like a rabbit. _Dreambane. _Dreambane was a potions ingredient. But he wouldn't have expected Harry to recognize the name, or the effects. He was terrible at Potions…

"Venom's Reach," said Harry.

"The Dark Lord came up with that name," Lucius murmured. "And there were several bales of it. Perhaps also vats. They reached the ceiling in one case. Why?"

Harry closed his eyes and let his head droop down as if he were exhausted, as if the yoke on his neck had pressed too deep, as if he were finished.

Once, Draco had thought that sight was all he wanted. Now it made him sick to his stomach to see it.

"Harry." Draco snapped; he couldn't help it. He wanted Harry to stop having that reaction and be strong again. "I know dreambane. It's used as one of the ingredients in a powerful version of the Dreamless Sleep potion, one that banishes thoughts that might become dreams. How could it have hurt my father? He's been dreaming."

"It has another, little-known use," Harry whispered. His voice shook; so did his body, as if he had chills. "When combined with a Cutting Curse, it strengthens the wounds and makes the body remember them. I don't know how else to explain it. Even if the wounds seem to be cured, they burst forth again sooner or later. And they become the worse for the delay. It can also strengthen other spells, though I'm not sure of all of them, because they're Dark magic and there was a limit to what St. Mungo's wanted me to study." He stared at Lucius. His eyes were crazed and dark with fear and pity. "I'm afraid some of them might be spells that are part of the Mirror Maze, and so the dreambane would render it more subtle. When we think it's gone, or even if we actually remove it, the wounds will come forth again and kill you."

Draco wanted to scream. He settled for tightening his hold slightly on Harry, instead, and holding him until the storm of horror blew over and past, and he could hear his father's reply.

"And what can be done about this dreambane? How can we be sure it has been introduced into my body? I am sure Smythe gave me no potion."

"It could have happened before the curse was cast," Harry said, "if he had an accomplice. Or—did he spit on you?"

"Yes, he did," Lucius said quietly.

Harry nodded. His hair rustled against Draco's cheek; his head bumped Draco's and made it sidle and slip. "That's probably how he intended to do it. Dreambane can ride within human body fluids and be absorbed by the skin."

"And what are we to do?" Narcissa asked. Draco wanted to close his eyes again at the sound of her voice. Perhaps Harry would think it perfectly smooth, like a frozen lake, but Harry did not know his mother yet.

Harry drew a breath like a dragon getting ready to belch fire. "There's a potion that can purge dreambane from the body," he said. "But I don't know how to brew it, and I don't think I would trust myself if I did. My potions skills have never been the best—"

Draco found he could breathe again.

He gripped Harry more tightly still. "And here I am, nearly a Potions master," he said, "and devoted to helping the family. Isn't that convenient?"

Harry sagged back against Draco again, obviously boneless with relief. He seemed to have thought he would be left to deal with Lucius's poisoning, with inadequate Potions skills, on his own.

Draco lifted Harry's hair and kissed the skin beneath his right ear, gentle and delicate and slow, giving and receiving reassurance with the gesture, making it a promise of hope and mutual aid.

_And so this is love._


	21. The Limits of Certainty

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-One—The Limits of Certainty_

_Harry is behaving so much better now. _

Draco was keeping his eyes on the book in front of him, which described dreambane and the various potions that contained it, but now and then he darted the edge of a glance at Harry, who sat across the table from him in the library connected to Harry's rooms. Harry was manifestly _not _keeping his eyes on the book in front of him. He shifted from moment to moment, grumbling under his breath and kicking one leg out as if he would relieve the tension of his shoulders that way. Now and then he sighed as if the mere fact of study were hurting his head. Then he would reach out and turn a page in the book as though it were weighted with stones.

Draco normally wouldn't have found that sort of thing conducive to study, but he had studied dreambane before, for his exams in the Potions mastery, so this was more revision than a new learning experience. He was more interested in the way that Harry had relaxed enough around Draco to show his boredom and fear. He no longer thought that he had to be on his best behavior to placate the Malfoys.

_And he's taking lessons from Rogers, and he's accepting the food that we give him, and he's actually making use of the bed now._ Draco would have preened himself about that last if he'd been a bird. As it was, he could smooth a finger over his lips and watch Harry without Harry noticing. Despite the way he sometimes looked at Draco, Harry was too involved in his own discontent and discomfort to notice anything else. _We'll turn him into a proper Malfoy yet._

Draco tried to control the smugness he felt and remind himself that it could all backfire—for one thing, Harry might not take being told that he was a Malfoy in behavior as well as name now kindly—but he couldn't. He needed some good news, damn it. He had learned that Harry was almost certainly abused by his Muggle guardians, his father was the victim of enemies more clever than he had surmised, he would have to send one of the house-elves out for more ingredients for the Jason's Draught he was brewing to repay his father's friends, and his mother was in a strange mood today, quiet and slant-eyed. He deserved to be able to look at the man he was falling in love with and know that he would be better-fed and better-protected when he became a Malfoy than he ever had been in his life before.

Harry hissed under his breath and gave an uncomfortable little wriggle he probably wasn't even aware of. His shoulders hunched like a vulture's wings. Draco eyed them sideways and then stood, moving quietly around the table, reaching the other chair just as Harry started to stand.

He put his hands on Harry's shoulders and leaned over to whisper into his ear. "Leaving so soon? And here I was just about to ask you if you wanted a massage. Your shoulders have been tempting me for the past half-hour."

Harry started to turn his head and open his mouth, doubtless to complain, because that was what he did, but then he slumped forwards and groaned instead. Draco smiled triumphantly. He _did _know how to give a good massage, a legacy of having Blaise Zabini as a lover for two months. Blaise had been insistent that anyone who stayed with him would know how to give a good massage. And, at the time, Draco had been desperate to stay with him, because Blaise was the cleverest and most skilled lover he had ever had.

Now, he couldn't remember why that had made such a difference. What was Blaise compared to Harry? What was a pair of restless hands and an inventive tongue next to the way that Harry's eyes flashed when he was charging some obstacle head-on, determined to knock it to the ground like a mountain goat using his horns?

But he had at least left Draco with one excellent legacy, since Harry was moaning and dropping his head forwards on the table as if he wanted to go to sleep. The sight of him enjoying this so much was enough to make Draco harden again. He had to swallow hard to resist the impulse to frot against the back of the chair, a few inches from Harry's spine. He fixed his eyes on the way Harry squirmed and sighed instead, and went on stroking and digging deep and probing for the tension and working it away.

Of course, just when he was really beginning to enjoy this as much as Harry was, Harry pushed himself back from the table. "You could have fooled me," he said. "I thought you were concentrating absolutely on that potions book."

"I have the ability to absorb information and think about something else both at once." Draco let his laughter, partially at himself, into his voice. He had never felt less capable of managing multiple tasks than he did at the moment. He wanted to lay Harry down on the table and start learning his body the way Harry had tried learning the books. "Amazing, I know."

"It is," said Harry, and his voice held a drugged honesty that pleased Draco very much. Just for that, he used both hands in a circular motion that had always managed to soothe Blaise's temper after a hard day of soaking in his hot tub and quarreling with his mother. Harry hissed, and Draco saw his eyes briefly roll back in his head. "You're amazing," he whispered.

"So you say right now," Draco said, dizzy with relief and desire and amusement. "I also want to make you scream it, whimper it, and whisper it into my ear when you're so sated that you don't think you can move again." He bowed his head and licked the back of Harry's neck. Harry shuddered and arched as if he wanted to shrug off the touch and welcome it at the same time. "I'm told that I'm a _more _than competent lover."

_Dangerous, perhaps, to press so fast…but he's doing so well in the other aspects of being a Malfoy that I thought he would still have trouble with by this time. I think he's ready. Besides, I want him. _And Draco had put up with a lot in the last few days, God knows. The list of things he needed relief and distraction from ran through his head again, and he growled and rubbed his erection against the wood of the chair, wishing it were more yielding.

Harry's thoughts seemed to have been running down an entirely different course. He had an authoritative tone to his voice when he said, "Draco, stop now."

Draco stopped the massage, but Harry hadn't specifically referred to his other behavior. He kissed the back of Harry's neck again, wishing he could cast a nonverbal spell that would summon extra warmth to his lips. The warmth would melt into Harry's muscles, relaxing them and making him think of other things—

Harry shook his head, and hit Draco's nose with his skull when he did. Draco couldn't keep the irritated curse behind his lips. At least Harry sounded properly contrite when he said, "I'm sorry." But he at once added, "But I want to speak to you face-to-face," which didn't sound very promising.

Draco stepped away far enough so that Harry could turn around and face him. Harry didn't rise to his feet, though, as Draco had thought he might after that little speech. Instead, he braced his arms on the back of the chair and took several quick breaths like a recovering racer. His hair hung in his face, making his eyes hard to read.

Draco leaned his hip against the table and tossed Harry his best injured look. It didn't cost him much effort when his nose genuinely hurt.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated. One more deep breath, and he was racing down a tumble of words. "Listen. Every other relationship I've had has ended because I couldn't be what the people involved needed: a hero, or a caretaker, or flexible enough, or a passionate enough lover. It's more than pleasant of you to offer me what _I_ need, and to do it so well. But I don't know if I can offer you the same thing. Have you considered whether I can really give you anything beyond companionship from someone who's part of the same family? What tastes of yours do I fulfill? What do I do that attracts you? I don't understand the same pure-blood customs or have the same ideals, you know that already. I can learn them, but that's not the same thing as knowing them from birth. I haven't even spent that much time on you, compared to the time I've spent trying to heal Lucius. Are you _sure _you want this? Are you sure that you wouldn't rather have a hard shag from someone who understands you better and gives you more than a physical pull?"

Draco sat there, blinking. He felt as if someone had reached out and slapped him hard across the face.

Harry was worried about _that? _He was fitting in so well at the moment, and he was worried about _that? _

Or, perhaps even more to the point, he possessed so many talents, such strength, such beauty, and such stubbornness—stubbornness that had kept him from giving in to Draco right away and thus boring him, as had happened with several of his lovers in the past—and he still thought he couldn't be what Draco needed?

Draco wondered for a moment where he would find the words to explain the mess to him. Especially because he doubted Harry would take him at his word when he began. Harry was clinging to the ideas the Muggles had planted in his head, that he was not worth anything and that anyone's love for him was conditional. He had to do something to _earn _it, and he never seemed to think he had done enough. Draco might reassure him, but those reassurances would probably only last until he was out of sight.

In the end, honesty was the only refuge, as his mother had foreseen.

_Damn her, anyway._

"If you were anyone else," Draco said at last, "I would call you a manipulative brat fishing for compliments."

Harry stared at him. Now it was his turn to look as though someone had just tried to strike him between the eyes.

"But you really are stupidly noble enough to believe everything you just said to me," Draco said in a contemplative tone. He folded his arms behind his head, keeping his eyes more on the wall than on Harry. He could approach this serious matter best by pretending that it wasn't so serious. "All right. I never thought I would have to bare my soul twice in confession inside a week—it's rare enough that my mother and father get to hear about it—but you're worth it."

"Look, Draco." Harry pushed himself back in the chair, away from Draco. His arms shook as he folded them across his chest, and Draco felt a distant pity. _He has to push everyone away, even someone he knows wants him. He can give love, but he can't receive it. _"You don't have to justify yourself to me. I never meant to cause you pain. You can just—"

"Do shut up," Draco said. "I need to think about how to phrase this, and you aren't helping with your chatter." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as if he were staring at the ceiling through his eyelids. Maybe he could pretend that he was talking to himself, rather than to a nervous audience who might well disdain his words.

"All right," Draco said at last, without opening his eyes. "I told you that I thought your nobility was an act. And then I learned it wasn't, because I was watching your face when you cast the Heart's Blessing spell. You never hesitated. You reached out with your life force and your blood to protect someone you had every reason to hate.

"I had dreamed sometimes of finding a lover like that, but I knew I never would, because someone like that would have no reason to become my friend or my lover in the first place." He grinned then, remembering a few wide-eyed Potions mastery students who had tried to do him favors. "The few people I knew who had a chance of developing their self-sacrificing instincts had to drop them when they found out what being surrounded by former students of Slytherin House meant. But I wanted someone I could _trust_, as I could only trust my parents. That's a simple desire, isn't it? One that millions of people have every day, and can gratify whenever they want." He swallowed against the bitterness that wanted to overcome him. This was part of the price to pay for being pure-blooded. If one could only be safe in one's home, surrounded by one's family, it was rather disingenuous to assert that one _also _wanted to be able to trust random strangers.

"I'll not deny that I also wanted someone capable of standing next to me and protecting me—"

"So did Xavier," Harry snapped, and Draco choked on the comparison. "I want this too, Draco, but I've already seen what happened when someone needed me to be a hero, which I'm not anymore, and—"

"Shut up, I said." Draco opened one eye and glared at him. Harry didn't look chastened enough. Well, Draco would have to hope that his next words would do it. "Yes, you're capable of protecting me, just as I'm capable of protecting _you_. What I really didn't want was some fainting flower or someone who assumed he needed to wait on me hand and foot and never let me do anything for myself. And unfortunately, I met many specimens of one sort or another in circles of society obsessed with power dynamics, which I often travel in." He felt familiar irritation, then. Pure-bloods spent so much time around power that they should understand it _better _than other wizards. Instead, what Draco had found was that they tended to pursue the extremes, the dominance and submission, and ignore the rich, complex, constantly changing ground in the middle. "But you can gratify _that _desire, too. You have power, you wield it, but you're not obsessed with it. You even have more than one kind of power, because you have a Healer's hands as well as a fighter's wand." He hoped Harry would hear innuendo in those words, but from the way Harry gaped at him in shock, he was too busy being stunned by the baring of Draco's soul. Well, that was also an acceptable reaction.

"And you're part of my family now. I can relax around you as I can't around others." Draco smiled, and reveled in the sheer relief that bathed him. This was one less enemy to watch his back around, and more than that, it was someone whose friendship and companionship he had longed for since they met. "Add to that that I find you physically attractive, stubborn enough to intrigue as well as infuriate me, and rather cleverer than I'd expected, and I'd say that yes, this will be more than a quick shag or a disappointing relationship that lasts a few months."

Harry licked his lips, staring at nothing. Draco watched him and wished he could know what was going on in his head.

_That's the real reason I want him to be a Malfoy. Not because I want to control him, but because if he thinks more like me, then I'll understand him better, and these long times of not knowing where in the world he gets a certain perception or a certain way of thinking or acting or being will cease. _

"All right," Harry said softly, but Draco was listening hard enough for it that he heard the words like a shout. "I'll try." He grinned suddenly. "And I think I've been rather remiss in an activity we've already shared."

"What?" Draco felt his breathing speed up and his eyes widen. It cost him an effort not to hide it, but he made that effort. If Narcissa was right, honesty was the way to win Harry's heart, and Draco didn't want to hide _arousal _from him, of all things.

"Kissing," Harry said, and stood up and cradled Draco's head, his fingers running through his hair. Draco swallowed and gazed up at him, wordless. Harry leaned in and kissed him.

It was beautiful beyond reckoning when Harry's tongue entered his mouth. It was sweet and salty and warm, but Draco wasn't one to let a lover have it all his own way, especially someone like Harry, who needed to be taken care of so badly. He grabbed Harry's shoulders and returned the kiss, twice as powerfully, twice as demandingly. Harry gave a little laugh of delight into his mouth and partnered Draco, letting him take control since he wanted it, but snatching it back again the moment Draco faltered.

Harry shoved him backwards in small hops, and then they toppled over the library table and to the floor. Harry twisted to cushion Draco like the idiot he was. Draco still grunted as all the breath was driven out of his lungs. He gasped to get it back again, and then began to laugh. The implications of their position hadn't escaped him.

"Anyone might think you liked being pinned beneath me," he said. He extended his limbs languidly to the sides, grasping Harry's wrists with his hands, Harry's legs with his legs.

"Anyone might think you talk far too much and imagine audiences watching you when you should be concerned with the judgment of someone far closer to you," Harry retorted, and began kissing Draco again, apparently because he found words boring at the moment. Draco could understand _that _sentiment. He plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth and moved his hands to his shoulders, for the sheer delight of feeling himself pin something stronger than mere hands. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco's hips, and Draco thrust forwards, his erection finding the contact it wanted at last.

After that, there were a few moments that he was ashamed to say blurred for him. He wanted to wank Harry off, or suck him off, or at least see his cock, but he seemed unable to take his hands from Harry's shoulders in any useful way. He was stroking and caressing him through the cloth instead, and enjoying the darting, endless motions of his tongue. Yes, when he wanted, Harry could be as sexual as anyone else.

_More so, in fact, considering the number of lovers he's had. _

Draco angrily pushed the thought aside. He would not _listen _to it. Harry's past lovers weren't here now, and he was.

Still, it did make him want the privileges that those other men, and women, had had. So he bit at Harry's throat, which made him blink and arch his neck, and then slid a hand down between his robes.

Harry pushed his hand away.

_You have got to be fucking kidding me,_ Draco wanted to say, but he had never been one to use words where gestures would do. He nipped Harry again and drew his limbs back towards his body, so it would settle more heavily. "Don't tell me you're about to run off just when things are getting interesting, Harry," he whispered.

Harry did shiver, but his eyes remained focused and his voice clear. "I don't like to, but we need to talk more about what we'll do to heal Lucius. Do you think you'll be able to brew the potion?"

Draco blinked and stared at him. _For fuck's sake. _Perhaps swearing would have been more satisfying after all. "Of course," Draco managed to say, when he had got over his small bout of anger that Harry doubted him. "I have most of the ingredients, and I'm certain I can purchase the others without our enemies knowing of them."

Harry nodded. His eyes were astoundingly determined and clearer than Draco would have liked, given what they'd just been doing. "All right. Then that leaves my part of the task."

"To study Healing magic?" Draco let his limbs weigh a little more again. "You can do that later." He reached down with his hands to tilt Harry's head and down with his lips to nip the skin beneath his ear. It was a sensitive spot, and from the way Harry started and groaned, not one that anyone else had explored before.

"No," Harry said. His voice was breathless at first, but steadied as he pushed through the words. When he heard them, Draco understood why. "I need a second opinion on the Mirror Maze, the way the spells connect, and unexpected ways the dreambane might influence them. That means going to Healer Pontiff."

And Draco was thinking in an instant of the way that the magic used on Lucius might be used on Harry by Lucius's mysterious enemies if Harry went near the hospital. One of those enemies, at least, had studied Healing magic.

_No._

He grabbed Harry's shoulders and pinned them again, quite willing to hold him with physical force if he couldn't do it any other way. "No," he snapped. "Are you mad? That would give our enemies a prime chance to strike at you."

"They can't expect me to come back to St. Mungo's so randomly," Harry said, as if he thought he was being reasonable. "They have no way of learning what happens inside these walls." He paused, thoughtfully nibbling his lip, as if he were reconsidering that, but Draco glared at him and he continued. "And they may try to watch and follow me, but so what? All I'd have to do is Apparate back to the Manor, and I'd be safe again. I can blast through anti-Apparition wards when I have to."

_If you have to. But why should you place yourself in danger in the first place? That's what he doesn't understand. There are better ways to do things, and I thought he was learning them. _

Draco could feel the disappointment curdling the desire that still waited in his throat and belly. Trust Harry to start questioning his lessons just when he was thoroughly starting to use them.

"It doesn't make sense," Draco pointed out as calmly as he could. "When you're in danger, you retreat into your fortress and pull the drawbridge up behind you. You don't go prancing around inviting people to assassinate you."

Harry only shoved at his shoulders, as if Draco was the one not making sense. "I need to consult with Healer Pontiff—"

"You could do that by owl!" _So simple. Do I have to think of _everything?

"And then there's the chance of the owl getting intercepted," Harry said. "Not to mention that there's more time for something to go wrong with Lucius whilst we wait for her reply. At least I'll get an answer more quickly if I visit her."

_And you could die._

The mere possibility was not to be borne.

Draco shook his head. "Rogers," he said, and went on immediately, because their oldest and most faithful house-elf would have come the instant he was summoned. "Make sure that Harry stays within the house."

"Yes, Master Draco."

_There. Now Harry can't say I don't care about him, when I'm taking such extreme measures to protect him—_

Harry threw him across the room. Draco rolled so that the fall was not as bad as it could have been, but he still smacked his head against the leg of the table. He ignored the ache, though, because Harry was standing up, and his anger was stronger than the pain.

"You have no right to _do_ this to me," Harry said. "Protecting me when I'm being stupid is one thing—"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing." Draco brushed dust off his robes and sat up himself. He wondered if he could scowl Harry into compliance. They'd been doing so _well_. What had changed? Why had Harry been content to obey Draco's instructions in the matter of food and robes and becoming a Malfoy, and not this? Why was something so _sensible _as preventing danger to his life impossible to listen to?

"I _am not._" Harry surged to his feet. "I was stupid to refuse sleep and food. I see that now. That's why I gave in, because you made your point and I would have resisted out of sheer bloody-mindedness if I had continued to resist. But in this case, I can do something—"

"Not the right thing." _Harry, please. You've got to see that._

"You can't keep me a prisoner here!" Harry said. His face was red, and Draco found it hard to meet his eyes; they were as mad and feral as a beast's. "You'll lose me if you try, and I thought that wasn't what you wanted."

Draco might have hesitated that, but it was better Harry hate him for a short time and then stay alive. It would only be a short time, Draco knew. They cared too much about each other for it to be otherwise.

"I trust my ability to keep you alive," he said, "and to persuade you to come round again after you've had your little tantrum. I don't trust you to _stay_ alive if you leave the Manor right now."

Harry Apparated through the Manor's wards.

Even given his new connection with the family and the way they had adopted him into their house, he should not have been able to do that. He hadn't been lying about his ability to defeat anti-Apparition wards.

Draco knew he was gaping, and what he hated more than showing his emotions to Harry like that was the fact that, by the time he thought to lunge forwards and grab Harry's sleeve, he was already gone.


	22. When Draco Can Admit He Made a Mistake

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Two—When Draco Can Admit He Made a Mistake_

Draco stared at the spot where Harry had been for long moments, his heart thumping so furiously that he ended up having to sit down. He clenched his hands and tried to breathe, but he had too many images in his mind: of their enemies swinging up sleek heads with predatory smiles and closing in on Harry like a school of sharks; of spells ripping Harry's body to shreds; of pain curses crippling him until his hands curled like claws and he spoke only in whispers.

The last was too much. Draco found himself on his feet, tearing open the door of Harry's rooms and running down the corridors like a madman, rather than simply sending Rogers to summon his parents, the way he would have done in a normal mood. He wasn't aware until he started pounding on his mother's door that tears were running down his cheeks.

*

Lucius rocked and grunted when someone ripped apart the wards. It was as though they had tried to escape through a prison door that was located in his flesh. Moments after it happened, he managed to open his eyes. He'd been thrown back against his pillows, and he had to look down before he was certain that no other wound had been opened in his chest according to his enemies' curse.

After that, his mind worked very quickly.

Draco was not magically capable of ripping a hole in the wards, and Lucius had taught him well. He would never dare to damage the defenses of his home that way, not when they might be the difference between life and death.

Narcissa was daring enough, but she would have come to him and explained the reason first.

That left Harry.

Lucius narrowed his eyes and sat upright again, carefully regulating his breathing even as he snapped commands for the house-elves to check the wards. They appeared, bowed once, and then vanished to carry them out. It was somewhat of a pity, Lucius thought in despair, that his sons could not be so obedient.

_Why did he leave so suddenly? For no good reason. He was Gryffindor in school; he is someone who was ready to sacrifice his life to save me a few days since, for no good reason except that he wished me not to die. He acts impulsively. He may have uncovered some maneuver of Narcissa's or Draco's that he did not understand. I will have to teach him to come to me about such matters, the way that he would have gone to them if he had something to complain about from my direction._

In the meantime, he needed to do something to find out why Harry had left, but he knew it might be dangerous for him to move from the bed. "Rogers," he said aloud, and the house-elf was beside him before the last syllable had left his mouth. He arranged Lucius's pillows with long, slender fingers, never looking away from his master's face.

"Harry?" Lucius asked.

"Master Draco was wishing him to stay here," Rogers said with perfect tranquility, though the lowering of his brows expressed which side of the argument he was on. "Master Harry was wishing to investigate information that only one of the other Healers could tell him. Master Draco then ordered Rogers to hold back and attend Master Harry, and make sure he stays in the house where he is not coming to harm. Master Harry grew offended and Apparated away."

_Straight through the wards, no less, _Lucius thought with grudging respect. _And I might have known it would be Draco's fault._

"Send for my elder son," he told Rogers. "I would like to speak with him."

Rogers twitched his ears, as if surprised that he was not being ordered after Harry, but said only, "Very good, Master Lucius."

*

Narcissa got the most sense out of an upset Draco when she waited for him to speak and then used her own alert mind to piece together the scattershot of his words later. So she held him whilst he sobbed and brayed out a tale of what had happened between Harry and him, and then she dismissed the original cause of the argument. The biggest problem at the moment was where Harry had gone and whether it was possible to retrieve him.

"He's at St. Mungo's, I'm sure of it." Draco's eyes were too bright and wide, the skin around them stretched and dry. "He said that was where he was going, and if he went back to his house, it would only be to gather up whatever materials he thought he needed to consult with this Healer Pontiff. And in hospital—" His hands clenched around Narcissa's arms. "Mum, he could be _killed._"

"Yes, he could be," said Narcissa. "And we do not know if it is safe, yet, to go after him." She drooped her eyelids closed for a moment, considering it, but each time she arrived back at the same conclusion. It would only be safe for her and Draco to go if they went together, and that would mean leaving Lucius behind the wards, with no protection save for house-elves. Lucius would do better in the position than either of them, being the patriarch of the Malfoy family whom the wards answered to, but Narcissa still did not like it.

And _that_, she could be angry at her son about. He could not have anticipated that Harry might choose to run into danger, but when he saw how close it was to happening, he should have remembered that it would badly tax the strength of the family to go after him and used more diplomatic responses.

She sat back and removed her arms from Draco. He blinked open his eyes and stared at her.

"This kind of impulsive stupidity I should have expected from Harry," Narcissa told him, keeping her voice precise and level. "But I should not have expected it, or had to expect it, from you."

Draco flinched as if he'd been slapped, and his eyes widened. Narcissa thought she was the only one who would ever know how much he hurt when his eyes looked like that. Harry, at least, did not seem to have noticed, and after what had happened between them today, he probably had less reason to want to notice.

"I didn't know," Draco whispered. "I thought that we were getting on so well, and that he'd see the good sense of staying within the house—"

"Harry Potter is not a toy or a pet, to do exactly as you want him to when you want him to do it," Narcissa said. "Some people are, but not him. Why did you assume that he was a Malfoy already, Draco? When did you translate from using seduction to bring him in to using force?"

Draco flinched again. The words stung in a special way, Narcissa knew. Draco considered himself an accomplished seducer. He'd managed to charm his way into and succeed in the Potions mastery program when the people in charge of it had no reason to like the Malfoy family.

"I thought—" Draco took a deep breath and started again. "I thought he was already there. If he'd really changed his mind about us and started to think in the same way we do, then an impulse of momentary stubbornness shouldn't have made him leap like that."

"He cannot be changed so quickly," Narcissa said. She made her voice like small drops of water falling on a rock to wear it away, and Draco turned to face her window, scowling. "You have reason to understand Harry Potter's stubbornness better than anyone else in this family, Draco. I am interested to know why your own knowledge betrayed you."

Draco closed his eyes and bit his lip. Narcissa felt a moment of tenderness. Draco would never show himself this vulnerable in front of anyone else, not even Lucius. She doubted Harry would see this side of him for years, though Draco seemed to favor him as he had favored no other lover. It was a gift, that she knew when Draco was in such severe pain he couldn't control himself any more.

But she could have wished, on this occasion, that there were greater reasons for deserving the gift than Draco's idiocy.

"I wanted too much to make him mine," Draco said in a low voice, and then his eyes opened. "And, Mother, he _won't _protect himself! And his friends are too blind and involved in their own affairs to realize the mess he's making of his life! _Someone _has to take over. I had to—"

"That was not the way, Draco," Narcissa said. "Whilst I share your goal, I have found other ways to accomplish it." _Mostly by thinking long and deeply about the ways I can accomplish it without having Harry hate me forever, _she thought, but she did not think Draco would understand what the words meant if she spoke them; he was more likely to latch on to the notion that Harry might hate him forever because of his mistake. "You should have taken me as a mentor."

Draco bristled for a moment, then relaxed and said, "Even though you didn't know he was abused?"

"What?" Narcissa said softly.

Draco nodded, his eyes hard little beads of satisfaction. It did not make him look attractive, and Narcissa would have scolded him for it if she were not so interested in hearing the information that he was trying to impart. "Yes. I received a copy of his medical report from school, thanks to Father's friend Edward Leeds. He suffered from malnutrition, among others things, and from an absolute inability to trust adults, and I've seen for myself that he thinks all love for _him_ is conditional, even if he can offer it unconditionally to others."

Narcissa compressed her lips and sat backwards in the chair. This was another dilemma to wrestle with. The Muggles would surely deserve vengeance more than Emptyweed could, with his single headache curse, but once again, if she took it, she risked Harry's hatred.

"Mother," Draco said. "He survived _that_, and from the way he behaves, he expects to survive it still. He can't trust us because we don't behave like the Muggles. That's his standard for a normal family. Can you blame me for acting more protective of him than I should have, when I knew that?"

"Yes," Narcissa said, fixing him with a clear gaze that made him flinch again. "Then you knew that his perceptions of the world were likely to be even further from ours than those of a half-blood who made a sacrifice to gain entrance to our family, and yet you pushed. You have always been delicate at some best moments and forceful at the wrong ones, Draco."

Draco drew himself up and started to respond, but Rogers appeared in the bedroom just then. Narcissa turned to face him. He would not have come and interrupted her privacy without a summons unless it was urgent.

"Master Lucius felt the tearing of the wards, and is having the story of Master Harry's defection from Rogers," said the elf, with a slight bow. "He is wanting to speak with Master Draco immediately."

"Of course," Draco muttered. "And he probably wants to scold me, too."

"Can you say that you do not deserve scolding?" Narcissa arched her brows to convey how little she thought he should be able to say that.

He hunched his shoulders and scowled, but still, Narcissa was certain the point was made. And from the worry that distorted his face a moment later, he was suffering from a heavier punishment than she could inflict.

*

Draco was still haltingly trying to explain to Lucius what had happened when the Patronus burst through the wall of the bedroom. Draco knew in a glance that it was Harry's. Being chased down by a glowing silver stag on the Quidditch pitch when you'd dressed up to play Dementor wasn't something you forgot.

The stag bowed its head to them and spoke in Harry's voice. "The attack on me in Grimmauld Place had something to do with the conspiracy against Lucius, and it's connected to the highest reaches of the hospital hierarchy." There was a desperate breathlessness to the words that Draco hated, especially when the stag reared and dissipated into shards of light.

"He's threatened now," Draco said, alive with the certainty of it. "He _must _be." _And he sent his stag to inform us about that first, instead of sending it to fetch help. Heroic, self-sacrificing idiot._

"And you cannot go to help him," said Lucius, his face decidedly pale. Draco wished he could be sure if that was because of the danger to Harry or because of the news that Harry's Patronus had just delivered. He knew what it was for him, but Lucius was more practical than he was—or at least, more concerned with the duties of a patriarch of the Malfoy family. "Not when you know nothing about the dangers involved, whether he is really in hospital or in Grimmauld Place, or whether our enemies are there in force at the moment."

Draco closed his eyes. His love for Harry pulled against his father's words, quivering like a plucked heartstring, but at the same time, the simple good sense in those words struck him like hammers. One didn't dash out into danger without an excellent reason. At the moment, Draco had no way of estimating the odds, and certainly no way of planning an ambush.

But to know that Harry was in danger, and probably trying to face it alone, because that was the way he tended to handle things…

"I'm sorry," he whispered, opening his eyes and staring at his father. He meant he was sorry for showing weakness, rather than sorry for caring about Harry. He couldn't apologize for that, and Lucius knew it. "But I _want _him the way I've never wanted anyone since I grew out of needing Mother."

Narcissa rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment.

Lucius nodded. "And if you had remembered that in time, then perhaps you would not have spoken to him the way you did, and scattered his wits to the winds."

_My father, _Draco thought, his eyes dull and aching with tears he would be mocked for shedding, _may be less strong and less subtle than my mother, but when he has the advantage, he knows how to hit hard. _

He swallowed through a throat as dry as his eyes, and said, "We have to have some means of gathering news. Through an owl or a Patronus of our own, but we have to have it."

"Of course we do," said Lucius. "I will leave my younger son to suffer the ordinary consequences of his actions, but not deadly consequences." And he drew his wand and murmured a spell that made a dark shape form in front of him. Draco squinted, but he didn't get a good look at it before it spread its wings and sailed through the wall. He only knew it wasn't a Patronus.

He decided not to ask. It was probably one of the Malfoy family secrets that his father wasn't obligated to pass on to anyone, even his heir, until he neared his deathbed. He folded his arms across his chest instead, bowed his head, and braced himself as if before a winter wind, to wait.

*

Lucius's messenger returned soon enough, as Narcissa had known it would do. It perched on his arm and darted a black tongue into his ear, speaking words that his face did not change to reflect. When he had heard enough, he waved an arm and dissipated it into even less smoke than Harry's Patronus had left behind.

He looked up, and in the moments before he spoke, Narcissa's gaze crossed her son's heartsick one. _He needs Harry too much, _she thought, with a slight frown. _I wonder if that need is of longer standing than merely Harry's becoming part of our family. It certainly seems to have sprung up suddenly if it is a new emotion._

"Harry is well," Lucius said, with less roughness in his voice than Narcissa would have expected, given his disgust whenever Draco showed strong emotion. Perhaps he had realized as well as she had that _this _particular emotion was nothing to trifle with. He caught her eye for a moment, and the faint smile that touched her lips made her sure of it. "My messenger observed him recovering from battle in the company of Aurors. Apparently he was attacked in hospital, but escaped alive. The conspirators escaped by means of a spell that proves they must be connected to the St. Mungo's administration," Lucius added significantly. "No one else would have such power within the walls of the hospital itself."

Draco nodded at once. "And when can I go to him?"

Lucius arched an eyebrow. "There would still be danger if you ventured out now, Draco. Another attack might occur. You know that." He managed to make his voice mild and reproving at the same time. Draco flushed. "So you will take your mother with you," Lucius added.

"Lucius," Narcissa said, reminding him with that one word that he was still injured and would remain within the protection of the wards alone if she went.

Lucius bent a kind, keen glance on her. And Narcissa realized then that her hands were clenched, not folded, in front of her, and that she had locked her teeth on one portion of her lip some time since. She had betrayed her agitation at the realization that one of her children was in danger, and she had not even realized it.

"I will not let Draco venture into danger alone," Lucius said calmly. "Neither will I lose Harry, who I do not think will return without persuasion. My danger is smaller behind wards and with Rogers with me than yours would be if either one of you went alone."

Narcissa inclined her head, willing to agree with that, and then came forwards to kiss him. Draco turned his head away, flushing as if he were embarrassed, though that might be about the display of emotion more than the fact that it was his parents kissing in front of him.

Narcissa was sometimes reminded that she underestimated Lucius, and that he was cleverer than he looked, and that she had good reasons for the love and loyalty that bound them to each other.

Sometimes.

*

Draco had never realized how enormous the hospital could seem.

He had thought it would be easy enough to gain news of a sudden attack on Harry Potter, of all people, and that the invasion of Aurors into hospital would show up clearly. Instead, he met blank faces when he asked questions, and people shied away from him as if he were the herald of the attack instead of the follower, and those few who did seem to know something gave him harsh glances and found some excuse to hurry away down the corridor.

Draco knew better than to betray his frustration, of course. He walked beside his mother, who was his model in this as she was in so many things, and who never let the tenor of her voice or the curve of her lips alter when they encountered a baffle. She would nod, speak as graciously as if the person in question had given her the information she required, and turn away. Half the time they were called back, as shame and conscience got the better of the person they'd asked.

Draco was grateful that his parents had never trained that particular pair of virtues too strongly into _him_.

Knowing Harry had survived left Draco free of fear enough to concentrate on the words he would have to speak to win Harry back. He still did not think he had done entirely _wrong_, at least as far as his motives and intentions went, but the best test of that was the result of those motives and intentions, and that result had been staggeringly bad. And his mother's words, and his father's, and his frantic worry, had nearly flayed him alive.

He would speak carefully and gently, as carefully and gently as Harry needed him to speak. He would touch him with fleeting brushes of his hand, or not at all. He would step towards him and wrap an arm around his shoulders only if it was wanted. He would seek to charm with his eyes and his voice alone.

Harry couldn't resist him forever. Draco knew he hadn't mistaken the way those brilliant green eyes widened for him, and _Harry _had been the one to initiate the kiss the last time they were together.

_Only a few hours ago, _Draco's memory reminded him, and Draco shivered. It seemed incredible. The fear had scored deep lines into his soul, lines that would guard against his being so stupid again.

And then he saw a man in unmistakable Auror robes leaning against a door ahead, and he sped up his steps.

_I will be careful this time, _he promised the image of Harry he carried in his mind. _I won't be stupid. I won't offend him. I won't lose him._

The imaginary Harry turned to stare at him with a jaundiced eye. Draco held his breath on a hiss and managed to speak politely to the Auror.

"Is Harry Potter here?" he asked.

The Auror pulled himself to his feet at once and surveyed Draco coolly. He must have recognized him, but he let no sign of respect enter his eyes. "That's not your business," he said.

Imperiousness could work with people like this, so Draco threw it into his voice. "I know he's been attacked, and I _demand_ that you let me see him. Mediwizard Potter is working privately with our family, and we're owed some explanation as to what's happened here."

He heard a scuffle and a commotion as the Auror opened his mouth to respond. It was coming from behind the man. Draco frowned and started to step forwards, concerned that Harry might run out of the room before he could realize that Draco wanted to apologize. True, he hadn't been very diplomatic to the Auror, but that man wasn't a member of his family.

Perhaps Harry would even Apparate through the wards again. And then he would shut the Floo connection into Grimmauld Place, and try to consult with them about Lucius by owl, and his friends would be no help in persuading him to try and see Draco again.

Of course, those concerned thoughts continued only until he realized that his mother was gone from his side.

Draco smiled.

*

Narcissa stepped into the slant of light from an open door and faced her younger son. Harry stood with his head bowed for a moment, panting, and didn't notice her. He had runnels of dried blood on his face and a certain stiffness in his muscles that indicated he'd been wounded at some point.

Narcissa ruthlessly suppressed the impulse to demand who had done this to him, that she might kill. Acting on their impulses where Harry was concerned had done her family no good.

And then Harry glared at her and said, "Look. I'm willing to give you the information I've found concerning the Mirror Maze on your husband. We can hold the consultation by Floo if you like. I was about to return to Grimmauld Place and firecall you to give you that choice. Or I can give you a Pensieve with my memories in them."

_Well, _Narcissa thought, _at least now I know what role I should play with him. He needs a good scolding for being stubborn and foolish, and I am just the mother to do it. _

She was not so ignorant of her own emotions, even as she hardened her face and voice, as not to be aware of the little flare of relief in her soul. She was gladder than words could say that Harry was alive to bear a scolding.

And because she was aware of that, it led her to another realization.

_Merlin, I need him, in a different way, as badly as Draco does. _

_And after the scolding must come the gentleness._


	23. The Scolding, and What Followed

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Three—The Scolding and What Followed_

"You are a fool."

Narcissa could see, even if Harry couldn't, the way he flinched at that statement and drew himself up. He was fighting to accept such harsh words from someone he had almost trusted. His face flashed through several emotions and then settled into one of forced indifference.

_Has he been this transparent to all his enemies? How did he survive? _Narcissa approved of the way that Draco and Lucius wanted to teach Harry to survive in their family, but she thought that lessons in controlling his feelings would be beneficial to him for other reasons. He was too _open_. Of course, that quality was part of what had allowed him to help Lucius and so become a Malfoy in the first place, but Narcissa would have things so that not as much rubbish flowed into his mind.

"For leaving the Manor?" Harry sneered at her. He looked both unattractive and unnatural with that expression on his face, Narcissa thought. "Or for suggesting ways in which I can save Mr. Malfoy's life without our having to meet?"

Narcissa looked around once—out of habit more than anything else; she knew there was no one there—and then cast the strongest privacy ward she knew. The air turned steel-blue. Harry started and half-ducked his head, as if he expected Ministry officials to appear out of the air to arrest her.

Narcissa ignored that. So long as one had taken certain precautions before casting the spell, then the Ministry could not sense such magic.

"For thinking that we would cast you out of the family because you had a disagreement with our son," said Narcissa.

Harry bit his lower lip and ducked his head again. His skin flamed red. Narcissa wanted to reach out to him, and had to fold her hands calmly around her wand so it wouldn't happen. At the moment, coddling him would help neither of them. Harry needed to learn love, the hardest lesson of all. "I didn't—"

"It is obvious from your expression, and from your manner to me," Narcissa said. She relaxed a few of the muscles of her face. Harry's early training had left him with the supreme fault of not trusting people who didn't look as open as he did. However, it took very little to convince him of the existence of that kind of openness. It was one reason Narcissa had cast the ward; she could trust herself to risk exposing her emotions only like this when she was away from the safety of the Manor walls. "You speak as if we were once more employer and employee only, and as if you expected us to reject everything about you but your skills as a mediwizard." She paused for a moment, studying Harry. He stared at her, nostrils flaring. _More is necessary. _"Harry. We are your family. We will not cast you out simply because you have your own opinions about the way your life ought to be lived."

Harry half-closed his eyes, his face gray with exhaustion. Narcissa had not missed the way he half-leaned forwards on the word _family. _

_He wants it so badly, but he doesn't yet trust us to provide it to him._

She turned her head slightly to the side so that she could study Harry better, and narrowed her eyes as she realized that some of the darkness clinging to his face was not shadows or the graininess of fatigue, but actual flakes of dried blood. What had he been doing?

"I thought you had very definite opinions on the way my life ought to be lived," Harry said. The bitterness in his voice could have moved mountains. "Or why bother having me learn to act like a Malfoy?"

"We want you to learn those laws, yes," said Narcissa. She maintained the steadiness that Harry would expect. He would think it was easier to tell the truth than to lie. "But that does not mean you _cannot_ argue. Arguments will give us the chance to explain our reasoning to you and try to persuade you that our laws make sense."

That was the truth she most pitied Harry for not knowing. _He must have thought any acceptance we extended him was conditional not only on his healing skill, but on his good behavior. We cannot expect him to understand pure-blood codes or react the same way to danger that we would, but nevertheless he thought we would cast him out for reacting naturally._

Because it was inside her head, Narcissa could be more honest than she would have if speaking aloud. _And if he thinks that, doesn't he have reason for thinking that? We did refuse to explain the simple things at first, and trusted him to imitate us without saying why he should do so. We needed to put things in practical or emotional terms, not purely intellectual ones. Harry does not do well on that kind of level._

Really, his escape from the house was only the expected consequence of their own behavior. At least, it would have been expected if their foreseeing faculty had worked as it should have.

_And if Draco had thought to share the knowledge that his Muggle caretakers abused Harry with me before he did._

"If both you and Draco are here," Harry said suddenly, "who's protecting Lucius?"

Narcissa let herself frown. "The wards on the Manor and the house-elves are even more fanatical about guarding the family when a family member is alone there," she said.

"It's still not a good idea." Harry took a step forwards, and part of Narcissa rejoiced at the concern in his eyes. Harry at least had the natural and proper way of caring about a family member. What he needed to do was accept that he was entitled to that care in return. He had become far too used to being on the end of an unequal bargain. "Listen, I've survived and had my wounds healed. I meant what I said about consulting you through the Floo, but for the moment, I'm going to return home and go to sleep—"

_He has made important progress. And this time, there is neither Draco present to charm him, nor Rogers present to force him, into making this decision. _"So soon?" Narcissa permitted a smile to cross her face.

Harry blinked, and then frowned as if he found it personally offensive that Narcissa had reacted with pleasure. "No," he said flatly. "I'm going home to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and that way you and Draco can return and guard Lucius."

Narcissa gave him the stare she had used on Draco when he described stealing Neville Longbottom's Remembrall, and Harry clenched his fists as if he were trying to avoid squirming. At least that proved her eyes had not lost their power, though the longer Harry persisted in stubbornness, the more she thought her words must have.

"The closeness of blood does not diminish so easily as that," she said. "We are not angry at you, Harry—" _Not in the ways that you imagine, and only in the ways that you cannot help._

"Draco is going to be smug and brag about how he was right and my life was in danger—" Harry began.

"If Draco does any such thing, then I shall set him down." Narcissa moved a step closer to him, and Harry hesitated. Well he should have. Narcissa was openly showing her emotions now as she had not known she still could. "I have already scolded him for being so foolish as to send you fleeing when he should have done anything to keep you close." She hesitated, fighting the impulse to tell him that safety and the love of his family should matter more to him than Draco's gloating. But she did understand pride, and the ways that personal instincts sometimes demanded that it be satisfied. _Perhaps Harry should understand that as well. _"You have been attacked, and I believe you do not understand how powerful the instincts are that command me to take you behind walls at once. Having a family member in danger like this makes me feel as if _I_ were in danger."

"You probably are," Harry said reluctantly. "I've found evidence that indicates a large number of people knew Lucius was cursed and wanted him dead. But that's all the more reason for you to return to the Manor and add a human presence to the wards and the house-elves."

_What is broken in him, that he cannot see that that danger includes him?_

But another scolding would do more harm than good just now. "Come with us," said Narcissa.

The door of the cubicle opened, and Draco burst through. Narcissa trained a single quick glance on him, which he would have to understand if he wanted to continue claiming his heritage as her son. _Do not make this worse. Do not lie. Do not force Harry into a defensive posture because of your own pride. Yours must bow for the moment, and his be allowed to prevail. _

Even as she sent Draco that silent message, it occurred to her that Harry might find all this manipulation around his emotions to soothe him more offensive than Draco's gloating. She shrugged a shoulder at her own insight. It would be valuable later, to have achieved the power of understanding Harry like this, but for the moment, the knowledge was only a nuisance.

*

Draco paused in the sudden silence that seemed to have enveloped both his mother and Harry when he burst through the door. The Auror he had bypassed when he ran through the cubicle where Harry had been hiding took the opportunity to say, "You're not supposed to go through there."

_Only an Auror would say that when confronted with a _fait accompli. _He was probably a Gryffindor. _Draco felt entirely justified in ignoring him to stare at Harry and check his injuries, because of course he would have injuries.

He could see the dried blood, the sense of strained tension with which Harry held himself, and the way he slightly tilted to the side, as if he were favoring one of his legs or hips. Draco narrowed his eyes. He might have to let Harry get away with resisting rest and care for the moment, because it was more important to persuade him to come back to the Manor, but this time, he would see him _healed. _Wounds, and the curses that must have caused them, weren't minor problems the way that Harry had insisted the Beetle's Bite was.

Harry lifted his head and quivered, obviously one breath away from folding his arms. He seemed to be waiting for a blow or a sneer. Draco caught his breath against an intense wave of sadness. _The Muggles fucked you up, Harry. They have to suffer for that, but you don't have to find out about it._

He made sure to talk about something entirely unrelated in his next words, so as to catch Harry's brittle pride off-balance and give him something else to think about.

"I understand that it was one of your former lovers who alerted the Aurors. I think it's the first time I've felt grateful to one of them." He edged a step closer, because he couldn't bear to be further away from Harry one more _instant. _He doubted Harry would recognize the compliment in his motion, but his mother did, from the slight thawing of her eyes, and that was enough. "Now. Are you ready to come home?"

"No," Harry said.

_Of course. Why did I expect anything else? _

But his mother had made a slight gesture as if she had _thought _that Draco would have expected something else, and she didn't want him to destroy their slight chance with Harry. Draco ignored her, magnificently. He knew he had to be careful. He would speak the necessary words, but he would control the tone with which he spoke them. It was marvelous how many miracles could be accomplished with Gryffindors when one paid attention to the tone. They seemed to think the emotional context of the words would change the reality of those words.

"And why not?" Draco asked quietly. "It makes sense for the family to be together when something upsetting has happened to them, and now you've been hunted and persecuted like Father."

_He must feel some identity with Father. That will encourage him to return home. And if he can see himself in the same sort of danger as Lucius, that might pierce those stubborn mental barriers that insist that he is separate from us. _

Harry gave the cubicle a glance, as if hoping that one of the Aurors would come to rescue him. Draco permitted himself a mental sneer. _You find any confrontation easier than this kind, Harry, don't you? Killing the Dark Lord was easier than talking with people who care about you and admitting that perhaps you're hurt and need help. _

But remembrance of whose fault this really was soothed his anger before it could turn putrescent. _The Muggles who raised him, and the society who encouraged him constantly to assume the role of a hero. Those are the culprits, and Harry is only responding the way that he always thought he should in order to win approval. _

Harry stood there, looking half-lost and irritated about it, and Draco's tolerance for the distance between them waned again. He moved closer, his hand itching and yearning for the touch of Harry's skin.

Harry seemed to have summoned his courage back. He stiffened his spine as if he expected someone to pile burdens on his shoulders. Draco managed to hold himself back from a restless stir, but it was a near thing. _When did he start caring about only using his body for that? _

"I hate what you tried to do to me," Harry said then, staring at Draco, so that there could be no chance of his including Narcissa in his anathema. "I hate everything about it."

It was not what Draco had expected, again. He drew breath and let it go. Anything he could say now would be wrong. He needed to let a few minutes pass, so that the right words would come to him. He could try to explain that he hadn't meant to take Harry's freedom away, which was only the truth, but he doubted Harry would believe him at the moment.

Harry seemed to think that the pause had been a sort of courtesy to him. He clenched his fists and continued.

"I hate that you think you have a claim on me, and that means you treat me like a possession. And just because you were right about my life being in danger doesn't mean you were right in your way of dealing with it. If I go back to the Manor, it'll be more of the same. More affection I don't understand, more things I shouldn't be paying attention to anyway with Lucius's life still in danger, more Malfoy 'laws' that don't make sense to me and which I'll never learn intuitively the way you have. You made me feel like a prisoner. I won't take that from _anyone_."

Draco showed his confusion and horror, because he had no choice. They had made Harry feel like that? They had never meant—the Manor wasn't a prison. It was the most beautiful and luxurious place Harry had ever stayed; Draco was sure of that. Why had he seen the walls and wards as barriers, rather than the protections they were meant to be? Why did Harry think that his place in the family was dependent on his obeying the Malfoy laws the first time, without prior knowledge of the best way to do that?

_Because you have treated him as if that were true._

Harry rolled his eyes, which hurt Draco almost more than his words had, because he had never allowed anyone else to see so far into him, and then to have that gift treated with scorn—

But he realized a moment later that it would have been useless to appeal to Harry on those grounds, because Harry was too interested in pursuing his own grievances.

"You didn't realize this would have consequences? I don't know what your lovers have been like in the past, but I don't fancy letting someone simply have power over me without fighting back."

"You accepted the other care I tried to give you," Draco whispered. "The care that Rogers tried to give you." _I don't understand. Where is the boundary for him? When does solicitous care, and concern for his stubborn life, become confining, and when are they delicate enough that he might appreciate them?_

"Because I saw that it made sense," Harry said impatiently. "I did start feeling better when I slept more and ate richer food. But it won't make me feel better to spend the rest of my life in a gilded cage. And I wasn't _happy_ about it. I would have responded to rational arguments better."

Draco checked a sigh. Yes, that was the answer to the question he had just asked, though he didn't have to like it. _Harry _was the one who would decide when he felt confined, and when he could accept the gifts that the Malfoys wanted to offer him the way that his family meant them. Draco would have to learn to understand him, and to adjust his position relative to Harry.

But, of course, he couldn't simply give in to Harry and let him do whatever he wanted, either. The Malfoys had their own tradition of pride to keep up, and they would be equal partners in any exchange with Harry, not hampered by too-delicate scruples.

"And that is what we ask for the chance to give you now," Narcissa broke in. Draco looked towards his mother and saw her holding her hand out. He relaxed. She understood and thought the same things he did. She would make sure that Malfoy interests were represented. "We don't want to cage you, Harry. But we do want you among us, to protect and persuade."

"That's the thing that makes the least sense," Harry said. His head hung slightly when Draco looked at him again, alerted by the weary tone in his voice. His hands trembled. He looked as though he had run a gauntlet twice, the second time with the beaters using far heavier sticks. "The Heart's Blessing spell made me family to you. Well, nothing gave me that sense of family in return."

Draco found himself unable to speak. _Oh, Harry. Harry. I—I don't know what to say to you. What else can we do? What else can we offer? _

He might have snapped in angry pride, but two things stopped him. The first was Harry's exhaustion. He had obviously been fighting his own battle to accept what the Malfoys had offered him and was near the end of his strength. Draco might not understand why Harry had missed all their signals so far; he might think that they had sacrificed more for Harry than Harry would ever understand. But the fact remained that Harry felt the same way.

_And what is sacrifice if it is made for the sake of family? _

The second was that his mother had gone white in the face and begun to speak, and Draco knew Narcissa would do a better job at the moment than he could ever do himself.

*

Narcissa caught her breath against the pain, as she flinched for the first time in—she could not remember how long. She was guarded against the words that Draco and Lucius spoke, even when they intended to injure her, precisely because she had known them so long. They could play the game of banter and wit and intentional irritation all day, and only rarely score a hit. Narcissa could even treat the wrestling as a form of affection.

Only now had she begun to realize how alien that affection must seem to Harry, when his words had flown to her and landed a mighty blow on her heart.

_We must both understand each other. We cannot live in the same family if we do not. I will have a son who admires and respects other perspectives than his own, not one blinded by his own stubbornness—but, to have that, I must show him my pain. Defenselessness will win the offensive._

_It is a paradox, but I have lived with worse._

"So, then," she said in a very low tone. Let Harry think the lowness was meant only to soothe him. He did not need to know that Narcissa would have found it difficult at the moment to raise her voice. "None of what we tried to give you made any impression on you at all? None of it mattered?"

"It mattered," Harry said. He lowered his head and shifted from foot to foot like a small child who had to use the loo. Narcissa was heartened to see that. She did not think Harry was without conscience, but it was possible that he could will himself simply impervious to their pleas. "But there's no way I can _repay_ it. I don't know how to answer it. Letting you take care of me puts me into debt, and I don't know what you want in return. Money for the time I spent under your roof? I can do that. But you can't have my freedom, or my soul."

_And that is the answer after all. When Draco told me the truth, I should have seen it at once. When he can't see what conditions are placed on love, he grows fretful._

"What we want," said Draco, so sweetly that Narcissa felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, "is your presence."

_Yes, Draco, perfection. One of my sons is very clever, at least._

Harry put his head in his hands. The hands shook. Narcissa saw then how fierce the battle was that he had been fighting. He would need healing of his own when this was done, and a long, thick sleep. "Why?" he asked.

_My turn, to say the simple and irresistible._

"We like you," said Narcissa.

Draco stepped up behind Harry and wrapped his arms around him, leaning his head in the center of Harry's back.

_Excellent, _Narcissa thought. _The gesture will combine with the words and render both of them stronger. And of course, it is easier to persuade someone when you are touching him. _She might have attempted to touch Harry herself, but the motions of her limbs seemed stayed.

But her voice was still free—and when Harry looked at her, wild-eyed, she knew that her body was, too. She stepped forwards and cupped her hands around his cheeks.

"We like you," she breathed, "and we would take the chance to know you better, if we can." She paused, then let the words flow from her, the words that normally would have stayed as thoughts. "I am sorry if we gave you the impression that you must yield totally to the Malfoy laws to be part of the family. Surely you have noticed that not even Lucius obeys them all the time? And my son is hardly a shining example of them at the moment." Draco flinched a little, but his arms tightened on Harry. _As long as he can still hear. _"But none of that diminishes the impact of the blood. An argument cannot. We would mourn if you died, and be bereft in a way that we would not if an ordinary Healer or mediwizard sacrificed his life searching for a cure for Lucius. I understand that the sharing of blood is an unusual basis for family love for you. But none of that makes it the less important to _us_."

_We must be equal partners in this alliance. If we cannot walk all over him and keep him prisoner, neither can he simply ignore us and our pain._

She paused, and then stroked his cheeks. He felt feverish. "Will you come with us, and give us a second chance to show you the best of what Malfoys can be, rather than the worst, how you may live in freedom and yet be part of something larger than yourself?"

Harry closed his eyes. Narcissa could remember little comparable tension in her life as she waited for his answer, other than perhaps the moments before the defeat of the Dark Lord.

_And that involved Harry as well. _

Harry nodded.

Narcissa kissed his cheek at the same time as Draco kissed the back of his neck. Their eyes met, and Narcissa saw the same determination she felt shining in her son's eyes.

_It will not be easy. But we will teach him to be at home among us._


	24. What Is Tolerable

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Four—What Is Tolerable_

Draco leaned against the wall and gnawed on a knuckle. Harry had insisted on stopping by Number Twelve Grimmauld Place so that he could speak to his friends. Draco had to agree that they deserved to know what had happened to Harry in hospital, especially if their enemies decided to go after Weasley and Granger in retaliation for Harry's actions.

And so far, he had even managed to fight the temptation to listen in.

"Draco."

He started and looked up. His mother stood in front of him, holding one fold of her robes in hand. She narrowed her eyes as she studied him, but what she found that was objectionable, Draco couldn't reckon.

"You know we must be careful of Harry when we have him back in the Manor," she cautioned him. "We do not want to alienate him again."

"Do you think it would be that easy, when he's accepted that we care for him?" Draco smiled at his mother. "Revealing that we liked him was a stroke of genius, by the way. That matters to him more right now than love, which I don't think he would believe in, anyway."

Narcissa moved one hand in a deprecating gesture, but Draco could make out the faint blush along her cheeks. "Perhaps it was," she said, "but yes, we could still lose him, Draco. At the moment, he is in an extremely fragile state, uncertain whom to trust—uncertain, perhaps, that there is any secure place _whereon _to rest his trust. We must encourage the strength of his attachments to us, and not their fragility." Her eyes grew so sharp that Draco couldn't turn away, as if they were sticking him to the wall like the pins that Muggles stuck through insects. "That is why we cannot risk another argument like the one that you had with him."

It was difficult, but Draco managed to incline his head. "Yes. I know that."

"Do you?" Narcissa laid her free hand on her hip and surveyed him slowly. "I would have thought you had known it in the first place, but that did not prevent you from driving him away once."

Draco licked his lips. He was glad, now, that Harry had left them alone for a time, because he thought the brand of embarrassment on his face would leave permanent marks there. "Mother."

"Yes?"

Draco stiffened under her _continually _cold tone. He managed to recall his pride and reach down for it where it lurked at the bottom of his heart. And at last he was standing straight and meeting her eye-to-eye, exactly as if he had nothing to be ashamed of at all.

"I made a mistake," he said. "But I was also part of the reason that we won him back. I wish that you would not chastise me for a fault that I have made up for."

Narcissa studied him with shadowed eyes for a moment. Then she said, "Made up for, but not mastered. I would make sure that it does not happen again."

"I can control my impulse to tell Harry what I think of his dashing into danger," Draco said dryly.

"And how will you do that?"

"By making our home so attractive for him that he will have fewer impulses to do so," said Draco. "By ensuring that he thinks more of healing Lucius and less of risking himself for the sake of other people. I know much more about Potions than he does. He will need my help to research dreambane."

Narcissa's eyes were still shadowed. "And you think that will be enough?"

"If it's not," Draco said, and he knew his breath was coming heavy and his eyes were flashing but he didn't care, "then I'll do something else. I _do_ mean to win and keep him, Mother, and I'll do all that's graceful and right and balanced in the pursuit of him. I don't need my mother, who's not the one doing the courting, telling me how to go about it."

A moment later, he feared he had gone too far. Narcissa's face was pale, and her eyes were traveling raptly over him, as if she expected to see something alien and ugly there. But he had had to say it.

He was sorry for what he had done. That did not include, however, giving apologies to anyone but Harry, especially since he did not think apologies would stop the ice-edged words that his mother was flinging at him. He held her gaze and neither flinched or looked away.

*

Narcissa held Draco's gaze with the stillness and shock he would expect of her after an outburst like that, but inside, within the secret places of her heart that neither Lucius nor Draco would ever see, she held pride.

_This is what he needs. He cannot yield to Harry too simply, because yielding will not capture the attention of someone like Harry Potter. He needs the strength and resolve to stand up to him and seduce him at the same time, and if it is anger at me that must fuel that strength, so be it. _

It was a crude method, and so one that Narcissa would have ordinarily disdained. But they had little time before Harry came back from his conversation with his friends. Narcissa did not think Weasley and Granger deficient in understanding, whatever Draco might contend. They would understand almost at once that Harry was putting himself in danger, or had been in danger in the recent past, and they might well collaborate in trying to dissuade Harry from spending any more time with the Malfoys.

_You must hold stern against the disapproval of the world, Draco, which will not want to see the Chosen One dating a former Death Eater and the son of a Death Eater, _she thought, gazing at Draco. _I know you can do that. But you will also need to hold firm against the persuasions of his friends, and against Harry's exasperating tendencies, and against the way that your father and I will try to make things better between you but will end by making things worse because we do not understand enough about your relationship._

_I will give you the strength to do that. I will give you the strength to foil us in my saner moments, even if I change my mind afterwards. _

_No greater gift can I give._

*

To Draco it seemed like months before Harry descended from the first floor of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, his face pale and quiet, thoughtful. He took his arm and guided him out the door, clinging close as if he merely wanted to breathe Harry's scent. He thought that Harry would find his real, doubled motives—supporting Harry in case he fell and making sure he didn't get away—insulting.

Nevertheless, they were there. Draco had no intention of letting either happen, ever. The thought of Harry dead had fired his nerves, and then he understood in ice-sharp clarity what he was feeling.

_I can't bear to let him come close to death again, if only for the sake of my sanity._

Harry took the Side-Along Apparition well, but swayed a little as they came through the front doors of the Manor. Draco had expected that, and moved closer to him so that, if he collapsed, he would collapse into Draco's arms. Instead, Harry adjusted his stride, as if he was used to walking about with wounds and his movements to soothe pain or live with injuries had become instinctive.

Draco refrained from grinding his teeth, but it was a near thing. _Must he do anything rather than ask for help? _

_Of course, with a childhood like the one he appears to have had in the Muggles' untender care, perhaps it is not so surprising. _

Draco considered that in the moment before a house-elf appeared and his mother turned aside to speak with it. _But no less exasperating, _he decided. _That means that I still have the right to get offended and upset by Harry's behavior, as long as I don't show it in a way that drives him away._

Narcissa turned back, a faint smile on her face that was, according to Draco's expertise in reading his mother, real. "The elves spiked his soup with a sleeping draught," she said, and Draco blinked for a moment before he realized that she was speaking of Lucius instead of having plucked his secret plans for Harry out of his mind. "He'll be abed until noon at least. You should return to your rooms." She hesitated, one hand touching the side of her skirt. "That is," she murmured, "if you would not like us to move your rooms."

Draco took in her downcast gaze, the way her lashes fluttered around her eyes, and the pulse beating in her throat, and wanted to laugh. _Perfect, Mother. You couldn't have conjured an image that Harry would less want to violate. He'll still be vulnerable from that confrontation we had in hospital, but as anxious not to injure. _

"The location was never a problem," Harry said. His voice was stiff and uncomfortable, and he had half-extended one hand to Narcissa, before hesitating and dropping it back to his side. Draco wondered why. Perhaps he feared to offer assistance when that would remind them that he was injured, too, but Draco didn't think he could trust that much in Harry's good sense.

"Would you prefer a different set?" Draco asked. He draped one arm around Harry's shoulders and drew him close, the better to check Harry's balance and comfort himself with the sensation of warm life at once. "That's what she means. We didn't consult your choice when we put you in those rooms, and I remember the decorating scheme bothers you." He began to stroke the small of Harry's back, and was rewarded by seeing a gentle flutter in his eyelashes, as if he were fighting sleep.

_Fighting it, of course. But at least he can respond to soothing gestures. _

"I—no, thank you," Harry said, and however graceful his face was, his voice was stumbling and awkward. Draco thought he could reckon his thoughts. Perhaps he would have preferred a different set of rooms when he first entered the house, but he hadn't been offered the choice, and now he didn't want to cause trouble by asking for extra ones.

Harry didn't know that Draco was practically reading his thoughts at this point, though, so he bit his lip and tried earnestly to explain. "It bothered me because I wasn't used to it," he said. "And because I had to wonder about your motives."

_He is very honest, _Draco had to admit. _It's hard to imagine hidden motives there—but of course there are the motives hidden even from himself, like that wish for unconditional love when at the same time he's always seeking out the conditions placed on it._

His mother looked up at Harry, with a melting, confiding look that Draco could last remember her wearing in sincerity when he was about four years old. "I trust you know them better now?" she whispered.

Harry trembled a little, which Draco could feel through the arm around his shoulders, and swallowed. "Yeah, I do," he said. His chin jerked once or twice, as if he thought about lowering his head and looking away from Narcissa's gaze, but in the end his eyes stayed steady, locked to hers. "Thank you. The rooms are beautiful. I'm sure I'll get more used to them as time goes on."

Draco tightened his arm around his shoulders. Whether Harry realized it or not, his words sounded like a promise to stay in the Manor. From the abrupt look Harry gave him a moment later, he _hadn't _realized it.

"If you want to join Father," Draco said then, "I'll make sure Harry reaches his bed properly."

His mother leaned forwards, her eyes looking as steadily into his as they had a moment before looked into Harry's, and her hand touched his cheek. Draco understood the silent message. _You can trust yourself to be alone with him now, and not say something stupid? _

Draco answered as strongly as he could, given that Harry was right there, with a slow blink and a slight tilt of his head. A moment later, Narcissa had turned aside and touched Harry's cheek, then left up the main staircase, which at least showed she was satisfied. Harry bit his lip as he stared after her, hand trembling. He seemed to want to touch the spot on his face, as if he couldn't believe she had given him an affectionate gesture.

Draco made another vow in that moment. _By the time I'm done with him, he'll have come as near to taking them for granted as he can._

He had never felt such a strong compulsion to _spoil _a lover before. Of course, most of the lovers he'd taken came from pure-blood families near as rich as his, and so the exercise had been more one of tempting a jaded palate. But to Harry, everything was new, and Draco wanted to see him rejoice in it—if he could only persuade Harry that rejoicing was permitted.

Of course, Harry could take as much delight in the unelaborate as the elaborate, and Draco wanted to give that to him if it was what he actually wanted, as opposed to what he thought he should say he wanted for politeness's sake. So, when Narcissa was out of sight, he whispered into Harry's hair. "If there was anything you felt uncomfortable saying in front of her, you can say it now. Do you like the rooms? Would you prefer something—" He hesitated a moment to find a word that wouldn't sound insulting, then reminded himself Harry was unlikely to see these words as insulting. "Plainer? Simpler?"

Harry yawned, making his nose crinkle and Draco feel as if he wanted to fall over, and said, "At the moment, anything sounds good if it has a bed in it."

Draco smiled, brushed his fingers against Harry's shoulder, and then guided them towards the stairs. But Harry stopped when he'd put his foot on the bottom stair, and his stern gaze made Draco's smile falter.

"If you command Rogers to watch over me that closely again," Harry said, "or feed me like a baby, or try to smother me with blankets, then it doesn't really matter what sort of relationship I might have with your parents. I'll treat you as coldly as politeness will permit me to, and I'll curse you out of my bed if I find you in it."

Draco stared at him. For a moment, he considered what restrictions Harry's words _didn't _cover, and wondered if he might be able to get away with them. But Harry's eyes sharpened, and Draco realized that his wavering had been seen. He drove his fingers into his palms and nodded to Harry. "I understand."

"Good," Harry said, blinking a little, as if he had thought he'd have to fight much harder to win any sort of independence.

He blinked, and yawned, and leaned against Draco as they made their way up the stairs. Draco kept himself from wriggling or shouting in triumph by reminding himself that Harry might not realize what he was doing. He didn't want to disrupt the precious warmth or the trust that Harry seemed to have in him.

In fact, he realized suddenly, the thought that Harry might stop trusting him again at some point in the future was actively painful.

_I only wish I had some better idea what he was thinking, and whether he would feel the same way if I showed my mistrust of him, _he thought, looking down into Harry's face.

*

Draco saw Rogers as they stepped into Harry's bedroom. He propped Harry against the wall, hoping that wouldn't make him feel like a piece of broken furniture, and dropped to one knee in front of Rogers. The elf contracted his ears and hissed like a cat; he hated even the appearance of a Master submitting to him.

At the moment, Draco didn't care. He needed to show Harry how sorry he was for his mistakes of the past, and that they would not be repeated, no matter the temptation.

"I countermand the orders I gave you before," he said. "You're to ensure only that Harry doesn't come to extraordinary harm, like any other inhabitant of the house, and not to harass him with food or sleep or protection when he doesn't want it."

_There. How can he object to anything in that spiel?_

"Master Harry Potter is needing something else at the moment," Rogers said, sniffing the air and peering at Harry. As usual with orders he didn't like, he gave no sign of acknowledgment, though Draco knew he would obey implicitly. "Master Harry Potter has been walking around without the healing potions he needs, because Master Harry Potter is being an idiot."

Draco whirled to his feet immediately; he didn't even remember the individual muscle movements that caused him to rise. The panic that had seized his throat was that sudden and that sure. Harry blinked at him as if he didn't understand what the fuss was about.

_Bloody Merlin, Harry. I thought you had only minor injuries, not ones that required potions. Why didn't you get yourself Healed, since you were in hospital, of all places?_

"You're hurt?" he demanded, and went to Harry's side. "Why didn't you say so before I dragged you up all those stairs? Harry…"

His voice trailed off. He couldn't think of anything else to say that would convey his anguish at perhaps having increased Harry's pain, and he couldn't touch Harry anywhere in case he aggravated the hidden injuries.

Harry blinked at Rogers. "I had curses cast at me, but I was healed of the wounds," he said. "I really don't know what you mean."

Rogers crossed his arms. "Rogers can be smelling the lingering of the Breath-Stealing Charm in the air," he said flatly. "It damages the lungs without a healing potion. And Master Harry Potter is not to be damaging his lungs in Rogers's house." He looked at Harry as coolly as he'd regarded Draco's occasional pet Kneazle when it urinated in the Manor.

"I never learned that," said Harry, his shoulders tightening again. "And I'm sure the Healer who took care of me would have noticed the effects of the curse and made sure I got a healing potion, if I needed one." His voice had an intolerably prissy sound at that moment, Draco thought, his heart thudding irregularly between irritation and love, as though what the Healer he had consulted didn't know wasn't worth knowing.

"You have no friends in that hospital, Harry," Draco said briskly, and then nodded at Rogers. "The Breath-Stealing Charm. Precisely what are its effects? I have several healing potions that may work on his lungs, but I don't want to select one too strong." In reality, he thought he knew which one would work best, but he wasn't going to presume on his Potions expertise in front of Harry. Showing that he could be humble and seek the counsel of others would help Harry to decide that he could trust him.

"Master Draco is being disingenuous," said Rogers, and flicked him a glance that made Draco flinch. Luckily, Harry didn't seem to take any notice, at least not through any gesture more violent than the twitch of an eyelid. "And also behind in his studies, if he does not recognize this charm. It forces the lungs to stop working. It steals the breath from the body." He shook his head at Harry. "Master Harry Potter is determined to die where Rogers cannot be watching him."

"I managed to stop it in time," said Harry, but his words limped. He was looking at Draco, and for the first time, Draco thought he could see discomfort and remorse in his eyes. He seemed to recognize, finally, that someone who was not one of his friends or this mysterious Healer he trusted might care about him.

Draco didn't say anything for long moments, because he didn't trust his voice not to quiver traitorously. He reached out and trailed his fingers in random stretches across Harry's face. Scar, nose, eyes, stubborn chin…they might all have gone the way of dust and Voldemort if Rogers had not said something.

"Do you know who they were?" he asked at last, when he could trust himself not to curse the air.

"No," Harry said. "A group of wizards and witches wearing dark blue robes, who vanished together with a spell that surrounded them with mist and _definitely_ shouldn't have worked in hospital."

_That much confirms what Lucius's messenger said. I think he's telling the truth._

"Hmm," Draco said, and breathed out the sound so that he could reassure Harry. Thoughts of bloody vengeance would not be soothing to Harry at the moment.

The soothing must have been more effective than he thought. Harry sat down on the bed as if he had finally decided to admit his weakness and stared at Draco. Draco touched his ears, needing one final reassurance himself that Harry had escaped with those unclipped. Then he gently tilted Harry's head to the side, kissed the corner of his jaw, and stood.

"I have a potion that should work to ease the damage to your lungs," he said. "Stay sitting if you can, Harry. You shouldn't exert yourself more than you have to." And he left for his potions lab.

He did not linger long there, deliberately; God knew what Harry would take it into his head to do the moment he was alone. And he _did _know which potion was the most effective. Perhaps it was not the best trick to lie in front of a house-elf, he thought wryly, as he seized it from the shelf and sped back to Harry's rooms.

"Here's the potion."

Harry was lying back on the pillows, his eyes opening reluctantly. Draco stood still for a moment, looking at him. It seemed as though it were the most precious thing in the world, that he'd been privileged to see Harry's weakness.

Harry gave a small sigh, as though he found his inability to sit up irritating but didn't want to complain about it now. "Help me drink it, please?" he said.

Draco had to wait long moments before he could subdue the wondering tremor in his limbs—Harry asking for _help_—and go forwards. He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, the way he'd done in the entrance hall of the Manor, and lifted him away from the pillows. Harry gave a whinge, as if he actually mourned the loss of comfort, but opened his mouth for the potion obediently, and swallowed all of it.

"At least, maybe they are," Harry mumbled. "And I wouldn't know because I never passed my Potions exam."

_The potion's taken him. _And Draco at last felt safe to say the words he had repressed so far, because he knew Harry wouldn't resent them under the sway of the potion as he would if he were totally conscious.

"I like doing this," he murmured. He tried to raise his voice, but it stayed at the same level, as if he knew by instinct what the best volume was. "Helping you do those things you ask me to and can't do for yourself. I'll help you pass your Potions exam if you ask." He swept Harry's hair away and kissed the back of his neck. That won him a smile. Draco pulled back slowly, reluctant to leave and yet not wishing to push Harry further than he was comfortable with. "Hanging the mirror didn't work so well to convince you you're beautiful, but we'll work on that later."

"You like this?" Harry blinked at him and rolled his neck from side to side in inquiry.

"I like doing things for anyone I like," Draco said, somewhat defiantly, because he wasn't about to let Harry start up with what a burden he found himself. "And now you have me talking like you. Merlin." His arms tightened, and he nuzzled his way into Harry's hair, soaking in bursts of scent from his skin and not ashamed to admit it, now. "I was furious when I realized where you had gone, and then more frantic as time passed and I didn't hear from you. And I didn't come after you until the Patronus came because of my stupid pride, and because I didn't want to tell Mother why you'd left in the first place." That was not _entirely _how things had happened, but it was true that he'd taken longer telling Narcissa the truth in a coherent manner than he should have, and it was what he felt probably should be true. His stupid pride had been the cause of this as much as Harry's stupid pride.

"I was all right," Harry said.

"You could have died!" Draco's voice snapped in spite of himself. He stopped, panting, and then said, "But you let me do this for you, take care of you like this. I don't understand why, but—thank you. It makes me feel better."

Terror clawed at him a moment later. He was revealing so much of himself, and for what? Could he even be sure that Harry would respond to the revelation as he was intended to do, instead of protesting against the care?

And then Harry said, "I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly," and Draco began to breathe again. "But I don't think there's anything else I could have done. You were wrong."

"Not about the danger." Draco would _not _let Harry forget that.

Harry yawned. "You got that right by accident."

"Yes," Draco whispered, and kissed him again.

Harry lay pliant beneath him, mouth open and tongue tangling lazily around Draco's. Draco sated his longing to kiss him at last, running a hand over his face and licking and lipping at the corners of Harry's mouth and at his gums. Once he tangled his hand rather harshly through Harry's hair, but that won him only a low, drugged moan.

And then Draco found himself babbling, rather as if he were under the potion and not Harry.

"I want you. I like being near you. I wish I saw you laugh and smile more often. I wish you cared as much about healing yourself as you do about healing other people. I'll do what I can to help with that healing. You don't know—you don't know how much you've changed the house, the family, just by being with us for a few days. I like you because you make me feel alive with the constant challenge. I can think of other things besides just Father's illness, which would be all that was on my mind if you weren't here, and studying for my Potions mastery.

"I'd missed Hogwarts, do you know that? Missed the challenge that came from Quidditch games, missed studying other subjects, missed having friends who were less smart than I was to care for and lead around by the nostrils. You've given me something of that back again, but now I'm an adult and can appreciate it properly. And of course I do look forwards to having you about for other reasons. You're beautiful, Harry. I want to see what you can do when you're in a stronger position and can take care of _me._ Do you know, I think you're the first person I could ever have genuinely fallen in love with? I never thought I would have what Father and Mother have, and here you are."

Draco realized then, from Harry's gentle breathing, that he was asleep. He didn't care. He'd needed this release as much as Harry did.

He lowered his head and continued speaking the words into Harry's hair, words of wonder, words of love.


	25. New Realms of Honesty

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Five—New Realms of Honesty_

Lucius had made up his mind through long, solitary hours of thought, both before and during the time when the house-elves had fed him the sleeping draught. He had insisted on the potion being mild enough that he was simply detached from his own emotions for a time and his body could relax. He floated at a distance from the situation and contemplated it.

And each time he looked at the problem from a new angle and came at it again like a stooping hawk, his decision was the same.

Harry deserved to know the extent of his problems with the hospital administrators and why he seemed to have so many and such determined enemies. Perhaps keeping the information from him had already damaged and slowed Lucius's own treatment.

_Of course, giving it to him too early would have implied too great a trust, _Lucius reminded himself, and leaned back against the pillows to await Harry's advent. It was soon to happen.

*

Draco blinked his eyes open and froze for a moment. He was staring at a head of shaggy black hair that lay on the pillows next to him, and his arms were wrapped around a warm torso. _Still clad in robes, more's the pity, _he noted, in the moment before his brain caught up with the sensations.

Then he realized he was lying next to Harry—intruding on him in bed, which was one thing that he had promised not to do. He blushed and leaped out, putting distance between himself and the bed, as if Harry might sit up at any moment and point an accusing finger at him.

He didn't. Instead, he breathed on, his mouth slightly open, a tiny line of drool working down the side of his cheek.

Draco brushed a hand over his face and let his breath out slowly. He stretched, never taking his eyes off Harry, and paused in startlement. His muscles had never felt so relaxed. He couldn't remember a single dream, either a nightmare about the war or anything else.

He didn't think he had ever rested that sweetly, that simply, that naturally, next to anyone.

_Of course Harry is good for me, _he thought after a moment, his feelings surfacing as a smile. _He's good for everyone in our family._

And now he had to consider, perhaps to plan with Narcissa, how they were to ensure that their family could do good to Harry, as well.

He lingered a few moments more to gaze at Harry. He had shifted to the side, and his mouth had shut, so that the line of drool was cut off. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Draco wondered absently if he usually slept this well, himself, and then decided he did not. He wouldn't have a face shaped by weariness if he did.

_There are still so many things I don't know about him. Does he really have irrepressible nightmares all the time, the way the _Daily Prophet _reported? Did he cling to his other lovers because they gave him people to look after, or because they made him feel worthwhile? He could have had anyone he wanted, and yet he seems to have made consistently bad choices. _

_Well, when he chooses me, he will have no reason to think he has made another one. _

Draco started, realizing he had taken a step back towards the bed. If he remained here, he would probably end by convincing himself that Harry could not greatly mind the intrusion of another warm body into the bed, especially someone he was beginning to show he trusted. And that could potentially be disastrous, at least to that burgeoning trust Draco wanted.

He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him before he summoned Rogers and gave him directions to make Harry's breakfast large and plentiful.

*

Narcissa was arranging her hair in different ways and watching the mirror for the ways it changed her face when her son came into the room behind her with love shining in his eyes.

She stayed very still whilst he kissed her cheek and then sat down in the chair next to the mirror and began to babble about Harry. After a moment, she went on winding her hands in thick plaits of hair and drawing them over her shoulders, now and then turning so that she could look at the back of her neck or the way that they coiled around her ears. But most of her attention had focused on Draco, whom she had never seen this open.

This _dangerously _open.

_He is more passionate than Lucius and I. I knew that. But I have seen him guarded in past affairs. I did not know that merely falling in love with a Gryffindor would cause him to act like one._

And as Draco talked on, his hands making small restless gestures, his conversation full of plans to make life more comfortable and opulent and tempting for Harry, Narcissa saw the necessity to check him.

"Son," she said, when he was full in the middle of a lyrical flight about how they might coax Harry out of the shell caused by the Muggles' abuse and the apparently relentless demands of being a St. Mungo's mediwizard.

Draco blinked, then shut his mouth and turned his full attention to her. Narcissa was grateful to see that he retained that much of his sense of what was important in their world. When she called him "son" instead of "Draco," she was expecting him to respond as someone who had a certain relationship to her.

"Mother," he said, and inclined his head. Only an experienced observer would have noticed the way his jaw firmed, Narcissa thought, and Harry Potter was not one of those. "Is something wrong?"

"Have you considered what you might give up," Narcissa asked softly, turning away and arching her neck as if she were mainly interested in the way that her hair swept towards the middle of her back, "if you give constant gifts and attention to someone who does not have the same level of love and trust for you?"

Draco said, "You haven't listened to me. He's on his way to trusting me. I saw that last night, when he gave in and accepted the potion without my even having to coax him. And then he didn't chide me when the effects on him were stronger than he probably would have liked."

"_Probably_," Narcissa said into the mirror. "_On his way._"

Draco hissed beneath his breath, and in the next moment he was up and facing her, clasping her arms in his hands. "Mother," he said, the word loud and cold and ringing. "You know that Harry is different from most of the others we've dealt with—the enemies beyond our family, the Healers, the allies, the lovers I've taken. He has no idea of deception, and he's already made sacrifices to keep us safe. Now you're telling me to be wary of him? Why? What do you know?" His eyes were trying to cut into her.

Narcissa had long since made a habit of meeting harder gazes. It was a pity that Bellatrix had been so mad; she would have made a good teacher for Draco in that respect. "I know nothing in particular," she said calmly. "I only know that I see you surrendering power in a frantic search for—what? You have not named it. I do not think, Draco, that love requires you to relinquish any crown of ambition or power, though I am certain Harry would urge you to, because to him those are dirty words. You need not adopt his ideals. You need not trust him unquestioningly." She paused, then gave full play to the argument that, at the moment, would probably mean the most to Draco. "You need not become too eager and warm, and thus surrender the difference from him that probably attracted him to you in the first place."

Draco's nostrils flared for a moment, and then he turned his head away from her and lowered his eyelids in the way that meant he was thinking. His fingers tightened on her arms for the longest moment—Narcissa bore with it patiently, but disdained the emotions racing behind Draco's calm demeanor that had made the bearing necessary in the first place—before he broke away and began pacing through her room.

"Do you think there's really any danger of that?" he asked suddenly, turning around and trying to spear her with another glance. "You were the one who said we should be more honest and open to gain his trust."

"And you are the one who thought on your own of the point, which I only amplified, that our pride as well as his must have acknowledgement," Narcissa said calmly, to remind him of the conversation in hospital yesterday. "Yes, Draco, honesty is important. But we cannot and should not take away from our own goals."

"I didn't think I was." The slight narrowing of his eyes qualified the statement as dangerous, though Narcissa doubted either Harry or Lucius would have thought so.

"You may," Narcissa murmured. "It is prevention that is important, after all, more than a cure."

Draco tilted his head in reluctant acknowledgment of that, but his eyes stayed narrow. "Do you think Harry would really rush to take advantage of any weakness on our part, when he has shown himself blind to such power dynamics in the past?"

"He would do it without realizing what was happening," Narcissa told him, "much as he did during the war when he acted without realizing how many sacrifices other people had made or how much danger and trouble they had gone through. Yes, most of the time he makes himself into a servant and a sacrifice for others. But that constitutes a blindness of its own. He is so concerned with whether _he _has given enough, whether _he_ is the right relation to other people, that he is not liable to notice what they give up until someone reminds him. And then he would only torment himself with guilt, which is worse than useless."

Draco began, reluctantly, to smile. "I think you understand him better than I do, for all that I'm the one who's falling in love."

"Simply remember that it is called _falling_ for a reason," Narcissa responded mildly, "and that you have family around to help you—also for a reason."

Draco nodded, then laughed. Narcissa came to startled attention. If anything, she would have expected Draco to maintain a sober, perhaps sullen, silence after their conversation; it was the way she would have responded had her mother tried to counsel her on her approaching marriage to Lucius back when she was Draco's age. But his laughter sounded free and joyous, without constraint.

"Discussing him in the abstract," Draco said, cocking his head, "it doesn't seem possible that I would fall in love with someone like him. Selfish, even if he doesn't mean to be; demanding of attention, and in ways that I am not accustomed to giving it; refusing to adhere to our ideals insofar as he understands them, and not adhering to them in other ways because he is blind to their existence. Would you believe I could desire him from that description alone?"

"No," Narcissa admitted. She felt a small easing in her heart as she realized that Draco did recognize the dangers, and perhaps better than she did herself. "I am glad that you do, however. He has strengths that complement the weaknesses, and perhaps our family needs such ideals to regenerate it."

Draco nodded. "But I also needed your warning, if only to remind me to look beyond the boundaries of my own imagination in the way that Harry can't, yet." He touched her cheek with the back of one finger, sliding the nail across her skin. Narcissa met his eyes and smiled slightly. It was a gesture she had taught him, often used in her family between her and her sisters, who had sharp nails and could cut each other if they wished—but only if they wished.

"I love you," he said, "and I love Harry, and I will be cautious with you both, as you deserve." He bowed his head with a flourish. "Now, let us discuss in a more reasonable tone how we can make Harry's life more comfortable and, through him, our lives."

To this, Narcissa was grateful to assent.

*

"I fear I have not been entirely honest with you, Harry."

It was easier to speak the words than Lucius had thought it would be, perhaps because Harry was in the middle of a healing spell at the moment and not looking directly at him. A phantasmal dolphin had swum from Lucius's body back to Harry, and the strained smile he was wearing now might as easily be from what the spell had told him as because of his discomfort at Lucius's words.

"That seems to be a common plague in this house," Harry said at last, his voice flat and his eyes shadowed. "I wasn't honest with you about my feelings of discomfort, either, and look where it got me."

"This matter is more serious." Lucius managed to hold his voice steady and keep his hands open and resting next to him even as he began to wince, imagining what would happen if Harry considered his own small indiscretions so far to be lies.

Harry paused in sliding his wand into his sleeve. Lucius lowered his eyes when the young man tried to capture his gaze in the next instant. He was not yet ready for that. He was not ashamed, of course; he had done what he thought had to be done to protect his family. But he preferred to examine the tension in his own arms so that they would not betray anything.

"All right," Harry said at last, and perhaps he had some practice in controlling his emotions after all, because it was very hard to tell what he was feeling from his voice.

"I did not know what specific grievance my attacker had against me," said Lucius. He strove to keep his voice balanced, calm, flat. "I have never raped anyone, and I do not even remember the girl Smythe claims as his daughter. And with what you have discovered about the Mirror Maze and the dreambane, though he obviously had help, I do not think anyone else was needed to attack me. They only needed someone who hated me enough to do as he was told and accept help he might have discovered came from former Death Eaters."

Harry nodded slowly. "Then what—"

"The administrators of the hospital have a grudge against me," Lucius said. He was impressed with the calmness of his own voice. True, it was not the way he would have admitted a mistake to Narcissa or Draco, but his relationships with them were different. They expected failures from him, and would wrap them into the ongoing battle within the family to be strongest. Still, until this moment Harry had had no reason to think that Lucius was trusting him less than was necessary. "Some time ago, I withdrew all of my funding and charitable donations, so as to spend my money on purposes tied more tightly to the Malfoy family. This resulted in a particularly large loss on their part in purchasing medicinal potions, which my donations had mostly been marked for. I went into hospital in the first place because I had no other choice. I did know from the first day that my life might be in danger, however, and so might the life of anyone who tried to help me."

Harry backed away a step from the bed. Lucius could not interpret the expression on his face. His mouth worked open and then shut, and he breathed so noisily through his nose that for long moments Lucius worried he would do something impetuous. Lucius let his hand gently touch his wand. He did not need to defend himself physically from Narcissa or Draco, but it had already been proven how little Harry understood the contest of words. Perhaps he would think blows or hexes the best way to strike.

Then he shook his head and his eyes focused. Lucius deemed it best to go on speaking then, when he knew he would not be wasting his words on a lack of attention.

"I can give you names," he said.

"You didn't think at all about what might happen to anyone else, did you?" Harry whispered. "If I had died, it wouldn't have mattered to you."

_Harry is sometimes tiresome. Or perhaps having a Gryffindor in the family is sometimes troublesome. It is no wonder that families often Sort along certain House lines. They could not live with each other otherwise. _"It would not have mattered before the Heart's Blessing spell, no," Lucius said. "That made you part of the family. It changed things."

Harry shook his head again. "Why didn't you tell me before now?"

_I have explained that. But perhaps he wants some reason closer to the moral or ethical ones that he would expect from other patients._

"I honestly had no reason to think the administrators of St. Mungo's were behind this, until you told me about the blue robes." Lucius gave a small shrug. "I believed you when you said that the person who removed my stabilization fields and tried to kill me was most likely an individual, acting alone. Even after all my experience serving under the Dark Lord, I still suspect individuals first and conspiracies second, if at all."

"But still—I needed to know if you had any enemies there particularly!" Harry glared at him. Lucius thought he would fold his arms and start tapping his foot in a moment, and in those he saw Harry's difference from Draco, who would have waited patiently and expressed his own frustration and fury in private. "Things could have been different."

_And would they necessarily have been better for being different, Harry? That is the question that you fail to ask yourself._

"And why should I have told you?" Lucius said. _Think, Harry. My questions are reasonable, as are my speculations. _"That information is only for family to know. After the Heart's Blessing spell, it is true, I did consider telling you. On the other hand, we left the hospital that same day, and then you were safe within the protection of the Manor's walls, as a Malfoy should be. I did not foresee my son's stupidity and your return, unescorted, to hostile territory."

"But when I started suspecting Death Eaters were behind the curse and had the help of Healers, you could have told me then—"

_He enters the territory of whinging. _This had been the true reason that Lucius did not want to tell Harry, other than the idea of exposing a mistake that Harry would think of as moral wrongness and demand some sort of restitution for. He knew Harry would not be able to let the mistake go and would express himself in unattractive terms, which Lucius had not enjoyed listening to even when Draco was a small child.

"I did not think you ready for that knowledge yet," said Lucius. "Indeed, you are so newly settled into the family, and your history with us before that was so tumultuous, that I wished to avoid any unnecessary reference to deeds you may have thought reprehensible." _I hope to see his eyes widen with understanding, but so far that is still a vain hope._ "I did not want you to think—"

He broke off, but the damage had been done. Harry's eyes were wide with understanding now, but it was not the kind Lucius had hoped to encourage. Harry knew what he meant.

_I did not want you to think me reprehensible._

That, he had not meant to admit. Harry's opinion of himself and the rest of the family was still fundamentally unimportant, as long as he learned to trust them and to comport himself as a Malfoy. Lucius knew that Narcissa, many times in their long association, had had uncomplimentary thoughts of him, but she confined them to herself and could attend celebratory occasions on his arm even when they had had an argument the same morning.

He should not care what Harry thought of him. He had acknowledged the "tumultuous" past between them; he knew, none better than he who had seen the Time-Turners smashed, that there was no way of changing it. _This _was true weakness, and the only thing worse than having it and letting it matter to him was admitting it—all of which he had just managed to do.

_If this goes on, I may manage to be irritated with myself._

"You are a stubborn _arse_," Harry said fiercely.

Lucius could not help staring. Through everything he knew about Harry, he had still expected his rejection of Lucius to be more dignified.

"I need the hospital administrators' names," Harry went on, striding towards the door from the bedroom. "And any other key information that you might have felt like squatting on instead of telling me about. And your promise not to keep it from me again." His voice had remained vaguely calm, but just then he spun around and slammed a hand into the door panel hard enough to startle Lucius. His next words emerged as a full-throated yell. "And you're an idiot if you think mere references to the past were going to jolt me out of a family who appeared to accept me, but keep in mind that stupidity like yours and Draco's just _might_."

Lucius felt his jaw drop. He couldn't _help _it; things like this did not _happen_ to him.

He had no time to ask questions before Harry was gone, the door swinging wildly in his wake. Lucius clapped weakly, and one of the house-elves appeared at once and shut it. Then it lingered, staring at him from beneath lowered ears and twitching its cheeks, which Lucius knew must be a sign that he was looking fairly bad.

"Does Master Lucius require—" it began.

"No," Lucius snapped, needing to be alone to think about the incredible thing he had just witnessed.

The house-elf bowed—in the way, Lucius was beginning to realize, that Harry never would—and vanished.

Lucius leaned back in his pillows and exhaled hard, his eyes fluttering shut. The last words played over in his head, and over again.

Lucius still did not understand all the peculiarities of Gryffindor psychology. He still had to scold himself for revealing his weakness.

But he did understand, incredibly, that he was not to be punished for that mistake to the degree that he should be. Not yet.


	26. Learning to Trust

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Six—Learning to Trust_

"Master Harry Potter is a _bad_ human."

Draco paused outside Harry's rooms; one panel of the door had been left slightly ajar, disrupting the privacy spells. He could lean against the door and listen without risking a retaliating shock from the wards.

And from the sound of it, a very _interesting _conversation was in progress between Harry and Rogers.

"Yes, I rather fear I am," Harry was saying now, his voice fierce and flat. "There were times as a child when I thought I was born to be a house-elf, anyway."

The fingers of Draco's free hand curled into the door so hard that he wasn't surprised to hear wood splintering under his nails. _I knew it. In fact, it sounds like his relatives treated him even worse than I thought they did. If he was raised as a house-elf, then it would explain some of his attitudes and the way that he thinks of everyone before himself. _

Draco knew, of course, that Harry must be exaggerating, because Muggles didn't know what a house-elf was and therefore couldn't have deliberately raised Harry to imitate one. But he didn't care. Harry's words had the force of truth that many unconscious observations did.

"I need you to leave the Manor and hunt down a Healer named Virgo Emptyweed," Harry said abruptly.

Draco choked—on air, luckily, so that he wouldn't make a betraying sound. _He wants to bring an enemy here? Behind the wards, where he'll have the chance to see and understand our defenses? Is Harry utterly blind to what we've tried to teach him?_

"His parents were being bad humans, too," Rogers said.

Harry laughed. Draco took the moment to relax himself. As long as there were _real _house-elves around, and not wizards who had been raised to think they were like them, life would not be entirely bleak.

"And he may be as well," Harry said. "But I need to be absolutely sure of his allegiances now, and of the information he can tell me. If my enemies are keeping him captive, then I can give him his freedom. If not, then at least I'll make sense of the confusing things he tried to tell me before he ran away from the hospital."

_How interesting, Harry. What confusing things he told you? You didn't mention this, of course, and so there's no way that we can be fully prepared for the intrusion of our enemies._

"Kreacher will be following Healer Emily Pontiff and observing her. But you'll bring Emptyweed here," Harry concluded. "It _does_ mean leaving the Manor, though. Can you do that?"

Draco relaxed further, smirking as he leaned against the wall. _Harry's about to discover how much an elf like Rogers values a commission that's hard to perform._

There came the rubbery thump of Rogers flinging his arms around Harry, and then he sniffled and began to wail. Draco could practically _taste _Harry's bafflement in the silence from him that followed.

"Master Harry Potter is—" A large sob cut Rogers off, but he continued in a whisper as soon as he could. Draco approved. He had ordered Rogers to instruct Harry in the duties of being a Malfoy, and so Rogers would make sure Harry understood why this order had affected him so much. "Master Harry Potter is acting like a proper Malfoy, ordering Rogers around the way he _should_. From the tales Dobby was telling of Master Harry Potter, Rogers thought he was being wild and undisciplined and acting like a bad human at all times. But Master Harry Potter can also act like a proper Malfoy to house-elves." He sniffled. "Rogers is believing Dobby now, that you were a good wizard."

_I hadn't realized he knew Dobby was Rogers's son, _Draco thought, and then straightened as he heard Rogers disappear. He would let a few minutes pass, just in case Harry wanted to accuse him of eavesdropping—which would be normal for a man Draco adored and who trusted him so little. Draco saw no need to run himself headlong into unnecessary pain.

When he decided that enough time had passed, he stepped into the bedroom and showed Harry the vial of yellow potion he'd gone to his lab to fetch.

"Time for another dose to heal your lungs," Draco said. "I've read up on the Breath-Stealing Charm. You need it." He made his voice both as warm and as reasonable as possible, so that Harry would see the good sense of the matter without Draco's having to sit on him.

And Harry accepted and swallowed the potion as if it were the lemonade that Draco had sweetened it to taste like. Draco tried to mask the expression he knew that caused on his face, but it was useless.

_He does trust me. In some things, even if it's only my brewing skill, he can trust me._

Then Harry tossed the vial on the bed as if he imagined that was the natural resting place for all of Draco's delicate brewing equipment, and began to pace back and forth, waving his arms. Draco settled back into a more comfortable position than simply leaning on the air. _This ought to be good._

Harry got his monologue off to an enthusiastic start. "Do you know your father is an idiot?"

"That was the daily opinion of my teenage self," Draco said gravely, and bit his lip to contain his delighted laughter. It was partially at Harry's words, but mostly at the sense of kinship he suddenly felt with Harry. "What has the idiot done now?"

"Kept important information from me!" Harry reached the far side of the room and whirled around, snorting like a wild bull. "He didn't tell me he _already _had enemies at St. Mungo's, people who were prime candidates for casting the spell that destroyed my stabilization fields. The administrators were angry at him for stopping donations, maybe angry enough to put this conspiracy together or at least help with it when Lucius landed in hospital. And of course it would have been _easier_ on me if I knew all that, but Lucius Bloody 'Watch me faint rather than ask for help' Malfoy isn't about to make anyone's life easier. So now I'm making preparations to gather information and actually try to help the stubborn wanker, and if he ever does anything like that again I _swear_ that I'm going to subject him to one of my own potions!"

Draco _had _to let the laughter out then. Harry blinked at him as if he thought Draco would insult him for insulting Lucius, but Draco looked up and let him see his amusement.

Harry glared at him, apparently under the impression that his taking this seriously wouldn't make Draco laugh more. "It's _not_ funny," he said. "His silence could have resulted in someone being seriously hurt, the person who treated him if not himself." He pointed an accusing finger at Draco, which made Draco have to bite the inside of his cheek to stifle the guffaws. "And that's the thing I don't like about your devotion to family. It excludes devotion to or sympathy for anyone else. Lucius sounded as if he wouldn't much care that a Healer or a mediwizard died attending him, as long as he wasn't forced to reveal those secrets to someone who wasn't family."

_Not fair, Harry. And that statement shows that you still have a rather simplistic understanding of the codes that guide the Malfoys. We don't hate others; we are simply indifferent to their fates when our fates are entangled with pain. We can afford to be benevolent only when our loved ones aren't in danger. It's the same with other people; they just aren't as honest as we are, that's all._

But Draco doubted Harry would react to the truth anything but badly, so once again he used different words to make the same point. "Why should he? They don't deserve to know. Throughout time—"

Harry snorted, which from him was as good as a sneer. Draco scowled at him, and continued defiantly. "_Throughout time,_ people who weren't Malfoys have tried to hurt the Malfoys. Had Lucius told the person attending him, then his enemies might have learned he suspected them all the faster. He had to have someone he could trust, and until you performed that spell, there was only me and my mother."

_Let him understand what those words imply. Lucius _can _trust him. He _is _trusted, he _is _beloved, and the least the arrogant wanker could do is return those emotions!_

"That spell is an arbitrary boundary," Harry snarled, taking a step forwards. Now, if he resembled a wild bull, it was in the way he looked about to charge. "What would happen if you made someone a Malfoy based on it and then found out they were a sadistic fucker?"

Draco's nostrils quivered. _He's simplifying the situation for the sake of making his point. _"Blood is important."

"Magically shared blood can happen by chance, and you would still consider yourself bound by your laws to accept the person who shared it?" Harry might not use a lot of sarcasm, but when he did, he loaded his voice with it.

_I can't let him think he's getting an upper hand. _"It brought us you," Draco said, lowering his voice and letting his smile widen across his face as he looked at Harry, "and that was _not_ a mistake."

"It's still arbitrary," Harry repeated. He looked ready to step off a cliff for his point. "As arbitrary as dividing people up based on blood. My mother could do magic. She did magic that _saved the world_. You acknowledged as much yourself when we performed the blood magic that saved your father's life. Does that mean she was inferior to your mother, simply because her parents weren't magical?"

Draco closed his eyes. _He doesn't know all the heroes and heroines I do, the ones who fought for and preserved wizarding culture when Muggles tried to destroy it. He's never seen the dances at Midwinter, or the stars shining at Midsummer. He's denying something he doesn't understand, and I have to be the one who teaches him to understand it._

But it did seem very hard that this burden should fall upon him, when what he really wanted was to live in peace with Harry, and perhaps take him to bed some time in the next century.

"Blood-based beliefs are not the same thing as blood," he said. "One refers to a group of people who share a similar _culture_—"

"Then why do you speak as if you shared a similar heritage?"

_I cannot believe he said that. _"Culture _is_ heritage, you uneducated—"

"And as if Hermione and my mother were inferior because of the way they were _born_, not what they knew and learned?" Harry continued remorselessly. "I'm sure Hermione knows more about pure-blood culture than you do, with the way she studies."

Draco opened his eyes and glared, because the attempt to remain calm with his eyes closed was not working. "Growing up in it gives you an insight into the subtleties that you can never have if you're coming to it later. It's the difference between speaking a language natively and learning it when you're an adult. We're _different."_

"And you have stupid customs, and your house is too big!" Harry yelled.

Draco fought the temptation to blink frantically. _What does that have to do with the conversation we're having?_

But a moment's thought told him the truth.

"Harry." Draco said it gently, so that Harry would have to calm down and listen to him. "Do you still feel out of place? Is that the reason for this?" He took a step closer. "Please understand. We don't expect you to share our beliefs about blood. The Malfoys have adopted half-bloods and Muggleborns before, and we never expected that from them." He hesitated, then added, because it was true and Harry should know it, "Although many of them chose to abandon their birth families in any case, once they saw the superior attractions we could offer them."

"I'm never going to change my name to Malfoy," Harry said. "I'm never going to stop seeing the Weasleys. And if you consider my aunt and my uncle my birth family, yes, I'd abandon them in a red-hot minute, but that doesn't have anything to do with their being Muggles."

Draco raised a doubtful eyebrow. He thought speaking at this point would reveal the dryness of excitement in his throat. _He's going to tell me. He really is going to tell me about his Muggles of his own free will! And I wasn't even trying to steer the conversation around to them on purpose. _

Of course, Draco realized after a moment's reflection, that only proved how brilliant a manipulator he was, because he had done it without any conscious intention to do it.

"They hated magic," Harry said. "And they didn't like me." He suddenly stopped, and Draco could see doubts racing across his face like clouds on a windy day. Perhaps he had decided against telling Draco anything so personal.

_But that he's done it at all gives me hope that he'll trust us more in the future._

"What an irrational hatred," Draco said, and he did not have to strive to sound shocked. "How could they dislike anyone who was born with magic?"

"How could you dislike anyone who wasn't born to two magical parents?" Harry countered instantly.

Draco opened his mouth, then realized he needed words before he spoke. He stayed quiet to think intensely, though he thought from Harry's sidelong glance that _Harry _thought he was intimidated or didn't have the words at all.

_The contradiction doesn't exist, because our beliefs don't have the basis he thinks they do, but what _is _the basis?_

_I at least can't accuse Harry of not giving me intellectual exercise._

A moment later, he said quietly, "Harry, I know our beliefs still don't make much sense to you. And some of them probably won't ever do so. But you need to know that we won't force you to give up your beliefs and adopt ours." He felt able to muster a smile for Harry then. "_Real_ beliefs, ones that are going to stay in someone's head, have to be accepted for what they are. Maybe in time you'll come to see the Heart's Blessing spell as enough of a test to pass. I don't think you'll ever give up your friends or your liking for Muggleborns, no. But you're still a member of the family." He took Harry's hand and rubbed the back of it with two fingers, because, at the moment, he needed physical contact to compensate for the emotional and mental effort he was making. "Do you understand that?"

Harry looked thoughtfully at him. After what seemed far too long for consideration of such a simple matter—simple for him, at least—he answered.

"Yes, I do now," he said. "Thank you for taking the time to explain it." _He even sounded sincere, _Draco thought, reeling.

"You weren't in bed with me when I woke this morning."

And Harry spoke _those _words almost shyly, his eyes directed to the side.

Draco choked back the first response that rose to his lips—_Would you have liked me to be?_—because it appeared that his instinct to retreat when he found himself asleep beside Harry had been correct.

"Of course not," he said. He pressed his fingers down suddenly, heavily, on the back of Harry's hand. "You said you didn't want me there."

Harry smiled helplessly. "Thank you," he whispered.

_Yes, that was the right decision. He's further along the road to trusting me now._

Draco smiled at him, because there was no other response that was either right or safe to make.

"I'm bringing Healer Emptyweed here," Harry said abruptly as he turned away from Draco. "I hope you don't mind."

Draco had to resist the impulse to nod wisely. After all, revealing that he knew that already would also reveal that he had listened to Harry's conversation with Rogers. He choked instead. "He was the one who cast the headache curse on you!" _And you must realize what a tempting target for vengeance he would make if he were here._

"Yes," Harry said, "but he was also the one who first warned me of danger, and he claimed he had cast the curse to protect me. I want to find out what he meant. I sent Rogers after him." He glanced over his shoulder at Draco, his eyebrows set and challenging.

Draco hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, "Oh, well," he said. "We can always Obliviate him." _And then later, I can teach Harry a lesson about why we don't extend the safety of our walls to just anyone._

"And now I'm about to summon Kreacher, my house-elf from Grimmauld Place, and give him the task of following another Healer who may be involved in this," Harry continued. "What's the etiquette for calling one's house-elf into someone else's house?"

Draco nearly licked his lips. Harry was trying to compromise. He was making some attempt to acknowledge and live by the Malfoy rules, though he was still terrible at it.

"It's unproblematic," said Draco, "as long as you accept that we might call on him to perform tasks for us in the future as well. Crossing the boundaries between houses gives us a claim on him."

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco wondered why. That made sense, and was probably the simplest principle either he or Rogers had tried to explain to Harry so far. "I won't ask. I'm sure it's pure-blood logic even more convoluted than what's behind the Heart's Blessing spell."

Draco smiled at him, because he didn't see that that remark deserved any other sort of answer.

*

Harry had promised that he would call Draco when Healer Emptyweed arrived. Draco had therefore felt free to enter the library so he could memorize the recipe for the potion that would purge his father of the dreambane.

He sat down, breathing lightly, his eyes fixed on the book, and envisioned an empty space in his mind that began to fill with information as he read down the page. As the ingredients settled into their proper places, connections sprang into being between them, interlaced with each other and studded with small notes on the dangers of their reactions.

It was the simplest method Draco had ever found to study potions. He couldn't understand why everyone didn't adopt it.

So lost in thought was he that he didn't hear Harry's call of his name when he first made it; he was still building an image of piled vials and shelves around the potions ingredients in his mind. When he did concentrate on the lingering echo and realize that Harry had said, "Draco," he sprinted into the bedroom.

Rogers stood near the bed with an ugly and empty-faced man in his arms. Harry was saying, "You claimed that you cast the headache curse on me to protect me. Explain that."

Draco stepped up behind Harry, saying nothing. He didn't think there was anything he could say at the moment that would offer the kind of comfort Harry needed. He had worked with this man, had trusted him to an extent—_perhaps more than he trusts us—_and had been betrayed. On the other hand, Harry seemed to accept hardships like that as simply his lot in life. Draco had to stand there and wait for Harry to decide if he wanted to accept the offer of strength and companionship Draco was trying to lend him.

"You've been watched since you came into mediwizard training," Emptyweed whispered. "Everyone was relieved when they discovered that you wouldn't have the Potions scores necessary to become a full Healer. If you had, then you would have come into contact with hospital administration, and you're such a reforming hero that you probably would have pushed for reforms there, just the way you would have tried to clean the corruption out of the Ministry if you became an Auror. Healing is its own heroism, but being a mediwizard was the perfect compromise. You would stay on the lower levels and exhaust yourself in the service of people who wouldn't give you the credit you deserved."

Harry only nodded, as if he had expected that. Draco didn't shut his eyes, because he was facing Emptyweed and he wouldn't look so weak in front of a weakling. But he did suffer a moment of intense longing to pull Harry into his arms.

_If only I could teach him some response besides stoicism. _

"But then you showed more talent than they expected," Emptyweed went on, "and your marks on the second Potions exam you took, though not enough for full Healer responsibility, were closer to passing than they had hoped. So they started watching you more narrowly." Emptyweed glared at Harry as if this were his fault. "And of course, you never noticed. You're oblivious to anything that doesn't involve suffering people or the ones you like. Why someone like you, endowed with no shred of political sensibility, became a hero…" He shook his head in wonder.

_Have you known any heroes? _Draco wanted to ask him. _We tend to grant that title to people who are paragons of self-sacrifice, rather like this beloved fool I'm almost holding. Political sensibilities rather preclude that._

"I tried to warn you a few times, but you never noticed that, either. And so I did what I could to dull your senses and slow you down so the administrators would become convinced your performance on the Potions exam was just a fluke. I managed to persuade them that you struggled to keep your head above water on a daily basis, and your constant studying was necessary simply to keep you at a minimum level of competence as a mediwizard. You might," he finished, with a touch of haughtiness in his voice, "thank me."

_I have methods of thanking you that I do not think you will like, _Draco told him silently. There was no question but that he had to have some vengeance on Emptyweed. The laws of the Malfoys practically _demanded _it, and Harry wouldn't take it himself.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" Harry asked. "That would have helped."

"And you would have betrayed everything immediately with your lack of political instincts." Now Emptyweed had the gall to look disgusted. Draco decided his life would be interesting from now on. "You never took time to question what happened to you, even the sudden advent of those headaches. You had your eyes on the case in front of you, and the one beyond that, and the one beyond that. Your head was too full of Healing even for a Healer. The pain was probably good for you, as it forced you to care about yourself once in a while." He shuddered delicately. "And I wasn't going to give you the chance to hurt me."

Draco growled. Harry laid a hand on his waist. Draco quieted, because he could tell this was meant to be a comforting gesture, but he didn't _care. _Emptyweed had no right to say such things.

_And he will not get away with saying them. _

"Is Healer Pontiff involved in this conspiracy to hurt Lucius Malfoy?" Harry asked then.

"What? No!" Emptyweed stared at Harry, looking genuinely shocked, and that was the only good thing Draco had seen about the man so far. "I know no harm of Emily, and I won't have you speaking evil of her when she was the only other person who took time to help your hopeless arse," he finished.

Draco had to shift his weight, because a man stupid enough to give Harry headaches as a means of "protecting" him was likely to hero-worship blindly. Harry went on as if he hadn't noticed. "You said that my coming to visit her was stupid and dangerous."

"Because it brought you back into hospital, when I thought you well-gone." Emptyweed groaned. Draco caressed his wand. _He doesn't like being in pain, does he? _"I knew the administrators had a grudge of some sort against Malfoy, though I didn't know how much they wanted him dead until they removed you from the case. And of course you went wandering into their trap. I had to take an unexpected holiday myself, to make sure no one connected my conversation with you to any warning you had of their attack." He glared at Harry again.

"You still should have told me," said Harry. He sounded angry, which gladdened Draco. "I would have been prepared, at least."

"I've told you why that didn't happen." Emptyweed sniffed.

_Is that what we sound like to him when we try to explain our position on blood? _Draco thought, horrified at the lack of refinement and subtlety in the man's voice. _It's no wonder he won't listen._

"Did they have anyone to replace me on Malfoy's case?" Harry demanded.

He was shaking. Draco reacted without thought, because if Harry could touch him and not inspire contempt in Emptyweed, he could touch Harry. He rubbed a hand across the small of Harry's back, and Harry jolted like a cat petted without warning, then calmed.

"No," Emptyweed said, and Draco licked his lips to hold back the rage. "The next news would have been that Lucius Malfoy had died peacefully in hospital. And before you can ask, I don't know any of the details about the other people who wanted him dead. I only know the administrators were in agreement that he shouldn't receive the best care, or any care at all, in hospital."

"Someone attacked him and took away his stabilization fields." Harry delivered the words in a low, precise tone that made Draco feel smug again. _He does care about us, or at least about my father._

Emptyweed shook his head. "I'm as surprised about that now as I was when you first told me. It was too open a move for the administrators, though. It put you on alert, and they wanted to avoid that at all costs."

"So we have another enemy," Harry muttered. "Wonderful." He sighed and shifted so that his hip overlapped Draco's hip. Draco did not grin because that would not be dignified. "You'll swear that you didn't know anything about the Death Eaters who were involved in constructing the curse?"

Emptyweed's face paled. "Death Eaters?" he squeaked.

_I could show him one, _Draco thought.

"Yes, Death Eaters," Harry said. "This is more serious than you can imagine, and you should have told me about it from the first, from the moment you put me on Malfoy's case."

"I put you on the case because he had to have the appearance of care, at least, and you were the only one who would touch him," said Emptyweed. "Think what it would have done to the hospital's reputation if we turned him away."

Harry stared at him. "He could have died." His voice had a soft, shaking ferocity that Draco admired. _Emptyweed's decision is one that I might have made, but Harry thinks otherwise—and this is one beautiful fruit of that way of thinking. He cares because Lucius is a living person, no matter what he may have done in the past._

"So what?" Emptyweed shrugged. "I don't like what the administrators were doing, but Malfoy has escaped punishment for his crimes during the war too long."

And then Draco growled again, because his predominant emotion wasn't sympathy anymore. He was too clever to let the opportunity for instruction pass, though, so he whispered to Harry, "Do you see? Do you see why the Malfoys have spent so much time focusing on blood, and trusting only those who showed they were willing to act for us first?"

Harry nodded. Then he leaned back and stroked the hand that Draco had moved up to clasp his waist. Draco half-closed his eyes and shivered, cold sweetness like drinking pumpkin juice moving through him. "What do you think?" Harry asked. "Should we try him under Veritaserum?"

"That's all I know!" Emptyweed struggled against Rogers. Draco could have told him _that _was foredoomed to failure. "Really. I can't tell you exactly who wants Malfoy dead, and the headache curse was the only thing I cast on you to hold you back, the only thing I ever did to hurt you."

"Tell me this," Harry said, staring into his eyes. "Why did you hate me so much from the first day I appeared? You disliked me before I ever took that second Potions exam, I know."

Draco half-wished he were a cat then, so he could have licked his jaws and purred. _Good, Harry. Ask a personal question whilst you have your enemy at your mercy. Get some of your own back._

"You were arrogant," Emptyweed said. "Most people who get such low scores on their NEWTS don't even apply for mediwizard training. They know they belong in other areas. But you thought you had to be good at it simply because you were Harry Potter. You thought your fame could get you anywhere."

Draco growled again, not least because it was like hearing his past self speak. Harry shook his head. "Forget it," he said. "It's not worth arguing about. Obliviate him, and have done." He stepped out of the way.

Emptyweed began to protest, but the next moment Draco had cast a Memory Charm.

And something more, the nonverbal spell that he had decided on as appropriate vengeance for trying to ruin Harry's life out of petty spite and jealousy, and endangering his father's.

"You've been on a holiday in your own house for the last few days," Draco murmured. "You probably did some drinking, had some pleasant company, because you'll wake with a headache. You won't remember much of what happened, but you'll be satisfied with the tattered memories you do retain, and not seek more."

Emptyweed nodded dreamily. Rogers bowed to both Draco and Harry, and vanished, carrying the idiot with him.

Harry smiled at him as if pleasantly surprised at his restraint. Draco carefully changed his opinion of when the best time to tell him about the extra spell would be.

"Should we start discussing what to do about the hospital administrators?" Harry asked. "Your parents should be included in that discussion, I think."

Draco turned around, and touched the arrangement of ingredients in his mind again. "No," he said quietly. "I believe I'm ready to brew that potion, Harry. I want my father free from those bastards' spell before this goes any further."

His hands shook as he put his wand back in his belt. Harry at once stepped forwards and embraced him for a long time, stroking his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense words.

Draco leaned against him and let him do it. It felt good to be the comforted, for once.


	27. Pride and Dignity

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Seven—Pride and Dignity_

Draco watched from around the corner of Lucius's door as Harry recited the information he had learned from their vulgar prisoner. He hated to spy on this conversation from the outside, but he needed to see how his parents related to Harry when Draco wasn't there.

Only a few faint lines of tension at the corners of Narcissa's eyes revealed how much the news upset her; otherwise, she remained poised, absorbing the information and eagerly thinking about it. Lucius, on the other hand, avoided Harry's eyes and picked at the blankets. There were moments Draco would have given his soul to hear Harry call his father an idiot.

"That would make sense," Narcissa murmured. "After I removed your headache curse, I retrieved a Pensieve and cast my own immediate memories into it, to analyze them at leisure. I had thought it possible I would recognize the magical signature in the curse from the time we spent at hospital. And yes, though faint, it might have been your mentor's."

Draco raised an eyebrow. _You're downplaying your own power and certainty to make Harry feel comfortable, Mother. And of course you're not going to tell him about your own little excursion into hospital, when that would make him wonder why we so objected to his own. Tsk, tsk. You are not being _honest.

Harry stared at her. "Healer Pontiff's?" he asked with a slight croak.

_Who? _Draco thought for a moment, and then remembered Harry mentioning her. She seemed to be the only Healer Harry really trusted, perhaps because she was the only one who had made his life in St. Mungo's tolerable.

Narcissa opened her eyes then, a blink Draco could measure in terms of her startlement by how fast it happened. "No," she said. "Healer Emptyweed's." Then she smiled. "Ah, yes," she said. "It would be fairer to refer to him as your tormentor than your mentor."

Harry blinked as if he had thought Narcissa didn't have a sense of humor, then turned carefully to Lucius. "In truth, this reveals less than I thought. I still don't know exactly who the conspirators are, though my house-elf is following a—potential one." He swallowed. Draco nodded. It was hard for Harry to think of any friend as betraying him, and Draco could understand. He would feel the same way if Harry betrayed him at this point.

_That analogy may work well to understand him, _he thought suddenly, pleased. _His friends are like my family. As long as I keep that in mind, I should not be surprised by the things he does and the promises he keeps concerning them._

"But I haven't yet asked my friend Hermione Granger to investigate the hospital administrators," Harry was saying now. "Should I do so?"

Lucius nodded decisively where Draco would have demurred a bit longer. "I remember having reason to admire her research skills," he said. Draco blinked, but his father was in that mood, he knew, where he would make mysterious comments and keep the truth to himself. "I would suspect everyone on the list I gave you, but the names listed first are the ones who spoke to me sharply at the time of my revoking my donations to the hospital. And of course, we have to consider how much we should tell the Aurors working on the Smythe case. None of them have so far contacted me with definite proof or with a different motive than the one Smythe gave."

Harry sighed and shuffled his feet. Narcissa stirred, but Lucius took the chance away before she could.

"Speak your thoughts," he commanded.

Draco shot his father a bleak glance through the crack in the door. He would have preferred it if Lucius had shown a _bit _more remorse for keeping essential information from Harry.

From the expression on his face, so would Harry, but he spoke evenly. "The Auror who intruded into your hospital room, Julius Adoranar? He's still working on the Smythe case, from what I know, and he was once my lover. There are measures I could take to get the truth from him."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Lucius stared at Harry. Draco was glad that they remained still, because it provided an example for him to follow when he longed to burst into the room and seize Harry's arm and spin him about and shake him for being so stupid.

_He won't—he won't prostitute himself for our family. Does he even know the _shame _that would bring us? Doesn't he care? _

A deeper, more primal voice spoke from beneath his breastbone. _Doesn't he care that he's mine, and no one else will touch him for as long as he lives? _

And yet, if he made that claim, he stood an excellent chance of driving Harry away for good, when most of his former lovers would have expected a sign of possessiveness about this time. Draco sighed. It was all so _complicated. _But at least he had channeled his rage into intellectual actions instead of the relationship-destroying ones he might have taken.

Narcissa spoke a moment later, her voice tight. "You will not betray our pride or our dignity in that way, Harry."

_Yes. Good. She said it in a way that makes reference to the code of the family, and not the fact that he's _mine. _Harry will take that better._

"Because it would look as if you were desperate to know?" Draco glanced at Harry for the first time since his stupid announcement and surprised a bitter smile on his face. "You don't need to worry about that. Julius is arrogant; I never knew how arrogant until after I stopped dating him. He'll convince himself that I came back to him because he's so handsome I was unable to stay away."

"I _mean_," said Narcissa, voice tighter still, "you will not betray your pride or dignity as a Malfoy."

Harry blinked, and Draco saw his jaw drop slightly before he caught it. But there _was _understanding in his eyes, strangely enough. Draco wondered idly if Muggle novels referenced family pride. Perhaps Harry had read about it there.

Narcissa said nothing else, but she had taken a step forwards and was staring at Harry. Draco knew that look. It had compelled obedience from him on clear summer days when he wanted badly to go out and fly before he did his lessons.

It compelled obedience now. Harry nodded slowly. "I won't go to Julius," he added, when Narcissa cocked her head in the way that had demanded Draco verbalize.

_Good. _Draco felt the first tides of a vast relief moving through him.

"Good." Narcissa turned back to Lucius. "Now. I do still have those connections among the mothers of some of Draco's schoolmates, Lucius. I have not yet touched them because I did not want to betray family secrets. But I think the time has come. We need to find out who cursed you." She raised an eyebrow and waited. Draco stifled laughter. _As if she wouldn't do it anyway, even if Father didn't give permission. But she's trying to give him back some of his dignity in front of Harry._

Lucius nodded. "Question them, Narcissa. If you can find out which of them might have an aged relative who could have visited Rodolphus in Azkaban—"

"Of course," said Narcissa, with a small scornful glance at Lucius that Draco could see shaped around the edges by the unuttered words _You idiot, _and she glided out of the room. Harry shivered for some reason, and Draco looked at him sidelong. The last thing he needed was for his lover to be attracted to his mother.

Narcissa showed no surprise when she found Draco standing outside his father's door. She simply gave him a deep glance and gestured towards the room, where Lucius was speaking of him.

"Where is Draco?" Lucius asked. "I thought it odd he did not attend this discussion with you, but perhaps he might have been in bed or have a need to _think_."

Draco flushed. Not that Harry would know it, but the word referred to a time when Draco was an adolescent and had told his father he needed to think. Lucius had walked into his bedroom, intending to share his thoughts on what he was sure was consideration of a delicate matter—that of Draco's joining the Death Eaters—and surprised him in the middle of a wank instead.

Harry frowned at Lucius, but said, "He wanted to begin brewing the potion that would purge the dreambane from your body. He says you've been sick long enough."

Narcissa raised her eyebrow at Draco. Draco gave her a defiant glance. "I _can _brew the potion," he whispered. "I just wanted to see how you treat Harry when I'm not there first."

"Of course," his mother said, and then really departed. Draco put his eye back to the crack in the door.

"And what do you think?" Lucius was asking.

Harry clenched his hands into fists. "I think that I still don't know enough yet about how the spells in the Mirror Maze connect to each other," he said. "I could dissipate half of them, but there's no telling what might happen to the other half. I'll need to research for at least a few more days before I feel confident to try anything, and there's no Healer I can trust to consult on this."

"I trust you."

Harry glanced away from Lucius, and the deep uncertainty in his face touched Draco's heart.

"I am still only a mediwizard," Harry said, sounding as if he were choking. "That makes a difference in talent and skill." Lucius started to say something; Harry rushed on, his head bowed, and thus didn't see the deadly expression that Lucius usually reserved for people who tried to interrupt him. Draco doubted he would have stopped if he had. "I know it doesn't _seem_ to, but I've been lucky as much as anything else. The Malfoy blood magic healed you when I would have been helpless to do anything but sacrifice my life. I simply don't feel ready to dissipate the Mirror Maze yet. I would rather wait until I am."

_My God, _Draco thought, stunned, _is that _caution _I hear from him?_

He looked again at his father and lover. Lucius was nodding thoughtfully. "And the knowledge I did not give you can hardly have contributed to your confidence," he said.

Harry frowned, as if he had already forgiven Lucius, but said, "Let's let Draco try the potion first. When the dreambane is gone from your body, at least it'll be easier to treat you."

"And I will feel easier as well," Lucius said.

Draco snorted softly. Only Merlin knew the wealth of understatement those words represented; he doubted Harry could.

And yet…

And yet there was something like understanding in Harry's eyes as he stared at Lucius, and he mingled the comprehension with compassion and not with pity. Draco licked his lips and felt himself harden. Harry _did _make a good addition to their family. He knew how to handle Lucius. That he wasn't doing so consciously only made him more attractive, and this time, whilst Draco wanted to burst into the room again, it was not to scold Harry.

"I'm sure you will," Harry said, and gave a small bow to Lucius.

Lucius blinked, but a moment later, his face assumed a small smile.

Draco stepped softly away from the door and went to really brew the potion, exhilaration moving through him as if he had just caught the Snitch in a Gryffindor-Slytherin match.

*

"Come in," Draco called, when he heard Harry fumbling at the doorknob of his Potions lab. "You might learn something."

Harry stepped inside as delicately as a deer approaching a hunter, from what Draco could see from the corner of his eye. He stared at the three cauldrons Draco had going, and flinched when bubbles burst from one. Draco didn't roll his eyes only because that would ruin the count of chopped roots he was casting into the largest cauldron. _No wonder he's no good at Potions, if he acts like they're going to poison him at every turn._

"The purge to clear dreambane from the body is potent," Draco murmured, "and requires powerful ingredients." He paused, curious to see if Harry would be able to trace out a logical conclusion from there.

Harry grunted something.

"Surely you must know," Draco said, and because they weren't in front of his parents he allowed himself to sound exasperated, "that ingredients with strength in them confer a greater strength on the potion in return?"

"It seems like it makes sense," Harry said.

_Cautious, so cautious, _Draco thought. He was stirring the potion with one hand now and scattering in flakes of cayenne pepper with the other. The pepper would help to burn the dreambane out of the body, but he doubted Harry knew that. Harry would probably assume Draco was cooking up something to make his father feel better.

"But I've never been sure what strong ingredients were and how you differentiated them from weak ones," Harry went on. He forced a grin. "Of course, I don't have much use for such knowledge."

_Idiot. You're a mediwizard. _But there were times that his mother was wrong and honesty was _not _the best tactic.

"So you would simply have given any potion to my father when you were treating him in hospital?" Draco kept his voice light and idle. He picked up a vial of scrapings from the inside of a dragon scale, which came out as pink powder, and sifted them into the potion, letting them fall in precise circles. "Without testing it first?"

"Of course not." Harry folded his arms, scowling. "You were there. You could have identified it for me."

_Yes, an idiot._

"But most of the time I'm not there," said Draco. "And I could very well have trained for some other profession than that of Potions master, and then what would you have done?" He snatched up the sky-crystal that would lend the potion a piercing light as from heaven, and tossed it from palm to palm to give it a taste of his skin. Such things were helpful when one was making a potion for a member of one's family; the potion would "know" the person it was made for through the blood connection.

_But, of course, Harry probably doesn't know that._

Draco bounced the crystal off the heel of his palm and into the potion, then seized the stirring rod, which hadn't even had time to fall still, and moved it through the liquid again. Widdershins, of course, and he wondered if Harry was watching.

"I find that hard to imagine," said Harry. His voice was breathless. Draco resisted the impulse to preen.

He did look at Harry, briefly, because the potion was in a precarious moment when he could remove his attention from it. "What's hard to imagine?"

"Both," Harry said. "That you wouldn't have trained for a Potions mastery, when you're so clearly good at it, and that you wouldn't be there. From now on, I mean," he added, and then paused, as if fearful he might have said too much.

Draco brewed without answering, both because the potion had need of him and because he was trying to deal with the warm feeling that welled up in him as if he had swallowed Rogers's special soup for influenza.

_He wants to stay. He's thinking of staying. _

Draco tapped the stirring rod on the edge of the cauldron to get rid of the stray drops of the potion that wanted to cling to it, and then sniffed the fumes gently. Yes, they smelled like rosewater mingled with salt, the way they should. He laid the stirring rod down, and turned around.

_I want more from him now. And I think this is the right moment to demand it._

Harry stared at him in absolute wonder. With difficulty, Draco kept himself from reaching for the man he wanted as his lover, and with difficulty he spoke the words he thought even Narcissa would have deemed too honest.

"I—need to know what exactly you feel right now, Harry," he said. "I was committed to friendship that might never build up to anything more after the warning you gave me, and now…" He shook his head and stared at the floor. He knew he was flushing, but he couldn't seem to stop. "Now you've leaned against me for comfort when we confronted Emptyweed, and now you're staring at me as you wouldn't stare at a friend."

Harry licked his lips. Draco could see something brewing in his half-lowered eyes, but he had no idea what it was, or how much the feeling might extend to him.

"I do like you as more than a friend," Harry said, and took a step forwards.. He looked as if he were wrestling with himself, too. Draco wondered why, then decided that just because one was a Gryffindor didn't mean one had made many passionate love declarations in one's life. _Especially with the quality of his former lovers. _"I like the way you work, the way you care for your parents, and the way you can open your mind and home to someone like me, even if I don't understand all the reasons why. You can even argue with me and not be mortally offended. I like all of that."

Draco's neck twitched; he wanted badly to look up. But in the end, he kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. _Honest, you have to be honest._

"That's not enough," he said, voice thick. "You probably like all that about Weasley, and yet you don't want to go to bed with him. Do you?" he added suddenly, and then bit his lip so hard he drew blood, trying to get rid of _that _image.

Harry stepped forwards to clasp his wrist, but Draco refused to allow himself to hope. "No, I don't," he whispered. "It takes a different combination of admiration and trust and liking for me to want to sleep with someone. My relationship with Ron has never been like that."

Draco shuffled a bit, pleased with the answer but ashamed of the weakness that had made it necessary for him to ask in the first place. _Here comes the hardest question. _"And your relationship with me?" he asked.

"I want it to be like that," said Harry, and leaned in to kiss Draco on the lips.

Draco made a noise that was close to a moan and wrapped his arms desperately around Harry, kissing him back until his mouth grew uncomfortable with the desperation of the kiss. Harry kept control of the kiss, though, and Draco understood why when he pulled away and began to whisper.

"I'm still going to make mistakes. But thank you for everything you've done for me so far. And I really do need to show more trust in you. I can't even imagine how extraordinary it must be for you to reach out to someone like me and not have your hand accepted immediately."

Draco tensed, because he couldn't tell which reaching he was referring to. _If he's only doing this because he thinks I'm a little boy in need of the best friend I never had—_

_But the kiss didn't feel like that._

"But you kept trying anyway, and you've managed to overcome your biases towards me now. It would be silly if I couldn't do the same, when you've shown the greater trust."

"I'm not sure about that," Draco said. He was trembling, which annoyed him, but only now did he realize how badly he had needed to hear this.

Harry caressed the back of his head and kissed the side of his neck.

And of course he found a sensitive spot rather like the one Draco had discovered beneath his right ear. Draco groaned and tried not to let his head fall back. There were things that still needed to be said. "You were the one who came and stayed in our house."

"And you were the one who opened your house to me." Harry even sounded as if he understood what that gesture might mean now, from a family like the Malfoys, who had been betrayed so many times. "The one who took the burden of caring for me on yourself—"

"Via Rogers." Draco had to make sure Harry understood, and he was curious to see if Harry really didn't resent that any longer.

Harry chuckled. "That's true," he said. "But it was the impulse behind it that's admirable. Even your trying to keep me in the Manor and away from the hospital was admirable in its way. Stupid, but shouldn't everyone be allowed a little stupidity in his life?"

Draco shoved Harry away from him then, because he was so happy he had to move _somehow_, and more kisses would stifle his breath. But when he tried to speak, no words would come. He had to lean in and kiss Harry again after all.

"I have to finish the potion," he said.

"You've already finished it," Harry said, taking a glance over Draco's shoulder at the potion, "or you wouldn't have allowed yourself to become distracted by me."

Draco reacted without thinking, and in a way that he liked to think his mother would have approved. "You think all you are to me is a _distraction_?" He clasped Harry's shoulders. Harry's eyelashes fluttered, and his breath caught. Draco felt a tide of satisfaction move up through him, almost as intense as though he'd already come.

"No," Harry said, and kissed the side of Draco's neck again. His own voice was deep and restful to Draco's ears. "Not anymore."

*

"And what will happen once I drink this potion?" Lucius turned the vial back and forth. Narcissa, watching her husband closely, knew from his splayed small finger that he was nervous, not detached as he was trying to appear.

But of course he would _try_ to appear that way. He would think that he owed it to his family and Harry to appear as a paragon of strength.

_Or perhaps, _Narcissa thought, with a spark of satisfaction like the flaring of a firework, _he does not think of Harry separately from his family anymore._

"The dreambane will stream from your body." Draco stood at the foot of Lucius's bed, close to Harry. Narcissa could almost see the tangible warmth of the connection that hovered between them, and was pleased for them, though she could not take the time to question Draco about it now.

"It doesn't sound a pleasant process." Lucius turned the vial upside-down so that the potion sloshed against the cork. He had done that purely to make Harry and Draco both tense, Narcissa knew. If they had been alone, she would have scolded him with her teeth on his cheek.

"It isn't," Draco said shortly. "Purges never are, and this one less so. The dreambane will seek out every orifice for emergence it can, and it will come out mingled with a stream of blood."

Harry winced. Narcissa would have liked to catch her breath herself. Lucius merely snapped his fingers to summon a house-elf. "We'll have to change my sheets quite often, then," he said, and uncorked the vial to pour the white potion inside down his throat.

Draco sucked in a harsh breath. Narcissa heard Harry whisper, "What's the matter? Was he supposed to take only a few drops at first?"

Draco shook his head. "He startled me, that's all," he said. "Sometimes I forget how much he really trusts me."

_You would do well to remember it, my son, _Narcissa thought, and would have caught his eye to remind him of that, but at that moment, Lucius began to bleed.

Lucius coughed, and a small stream of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. A moment later, bubbles emerged at his ears, and one burst on the side of his eye. Harry flinched.

Narcissa pursed her lips. _Lucius should perhaps not have swallowed the potion so quickly. _

Draco leaned closer, and then hissed. Narcissa held herself stiff and still against the sudden shock of alarm the sound produced in her.

"What?" Harry whispered.

"Something's wrong," Draco said. Narcissa had to blink to stay on her feet. "The potion should have produced a heavier flow by now. It's impossible that I brewed it incorrectly, but—"

Wounds opened on Lucius's body, torso and face and limbs, as if he were a pig dragged to the slaughter. There was a hole in his cheek through which Narcissa could see his teeth.

Draco screamed and clawed for his father. Narcissa moved away, holding herself _still_, because she was sure anything she tried at the moment would only get in Harry's way.

Harry certainly had no problem shoving Draco out of the way as he cast a spell on Lucius. "_Congelo_!"

Narcissa knew the spell. It would freeze time around the bed and give Harry extra moments to study the situation. It was a good choice.

The spell flared around Lucius's body in a blaze of white, and vanished. That was not the effect, Narcissa knew. The air should have hardened and cooled, and their voices would have sounded like scratches on glass.

And the bleeding should have stopped, as it had not.

Narcissa braced herself to swim a sea of terror.


	28. New Information

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Eight—New Information_

Draco couldn't stop staring at his father. He had never imagined that something like this would happen: that one member of his family would be dying in front of him and that he would be helpless to stop it. He could _always _do something. It was part of his charm, part of the invincible way that he faced and would conquer the world if he tried.

But Lucius was dying, and Draco had no time to brew a potion that would help, since Harry's _Congelo _charm had failed, and his mother stood by with a look of pain in his eyes that made Draco want to kill, but their enemies were unknown and still beyond their reach, and—

Harry seized his wrist, pressing down on it until Draco gasped and stared at him. Harry's face was flushed and his teeth were gritted, as if he intended to bite through his own tongue. Draco was about to remark that that wasn't a productive use of time when his father was dying, but Harry spoke first.

"Invoke the Malfoy blood magic. Now."

Draco opened his mouth. He wanted to say that he didn't know if he could call it when he wasn't in control of himself. The churning emotions bounding and boiling through him weren't rational. What if he lost hold of them and Lucius was harmed as a result? Draco thought he could bear Lucius dying, but he didn't know if he could bear having caused it.

Harry shook his head.

That one gesture made Draco seize control of his own will. He swallowed and closed his eyes, then dived into himself, seeking the magic.

It came to him, red and blazing, silver and brilliant, dragging Draco's mind along with it into an invisible tide.

And then Harry spoke.

"_Guberno carmen de Malfoy_!" he said.

The magic _altered_. Draco knew it still sprang from within him, but now it was streaming through Harry, as if he had turned the course of the river that the magic resembled. And he was the one who reared with it like a breaking wave, and Draco was the one who had to resign himself to being a passive participant in the healing process, since he didn't know the details of the spells Harry was casting.

"_Congelo!_" Harry said again.

His voice was the firmest thing in the world, Draco thought, and opened his eyes, suddenly and absurdly calm. Surely not even the Dark magic that Lucius's enemies had cast on him could be firmer than this.

Harry stood in front of him, fists clenched, head tossed back far enough that Draco could make out his profile, his squinted-shut eyes, his forehead blazing with sweat. He could almost make out the shine around Harry that was the tamed Malfoy power, handled through a wand that shook with the ripples of pure magic.

This, he knew, must be the force of will Harry had used to defeat Voldemort.

He was not at all surprised to see the Mirror Maze spring into existence above Lucius for a moment, rippling like crystal seen underwater, lovely and deadly. Nor was he surprised to see it turn black and fall like volcanic ash across Lucius in the next moment. Of course Harry's controlled magic would win. There was no way it could lose.

Lucius stopped bleeding as the time-stopping charm took effect.

Harry immediately cast another spell that burst in a fiery golden blaze above the bed, then formed a vision of a slowly breathing man in front of Harry's face at eye level. Draco wasn't sure what that one did, but it seemed to reassure Harry. He dropped his head forwards and took a deep breath, and his control over the Malfoy magic dissipated, so that it dropped back inside Draco like a weighted pack.

Then Draco had time to realize what had happened, as he saw his mother's head droop and her teeth let her lip go.

Lucius was safe, for the moment.

And Draco had helped to heal him.

He gulped and moved his hand to cradle his wrist where Harry had squeezed him. A bruise was forming there. But Draco would have gladly borne a broken wrist for the sake of a healing father.

They had done something Draco truly believed was impossible.

Or, rather, he had provided the power, and Harry had directed it.

Harry turned around, and Draco frowned, because the expression on Harry's face was not the look of pure joy Draco would have expected. He started to ask what was wrong, but once again Harry began to speak before he could.

"I could be charged and fined, if not placed in Azkaban, for taking control of your magic without your permission. If you want to do that, I won't resist, but please wait until Lucius has been treated. I've studied the Mirror Maze deeply enough that I think I can find a solution and release him from the stasis spell in a few days."

Draco had to bury his head in his hands, _had _to. An enormous weariness swept through him, followed by an enormous anger at the Muggles.

_He thinks that we would see him arrested because he saved my father's life in a way that is not perfectly socially approved. The Muggles have crippled him. They've given him a conscience too sharp, which he only uses for cutting himself. _

He heard his mother speaking then, and was grateful to her, because she would say what Draco found himself incapable of saying right now. "I am amazed," she murmured, "though perhaps I should not be, that you think Draco would drag you before the Wizengamot for this. Professional Healer ethics do not seem to sit well with Malfoy ethics, however. It is no wonder that you feel so out of your depth here."

Harry caught his breath and shuffled around. Draco knew he was looking at him again, and so he managed to look up.

"You just saved my father's life," Draco said. "_Again_. If you had to use my magic to do it, who cares? That means I got to have some part in rescuing him, which I needed, after my potion caused him such pain."

Tears pressed against his eyelids and his throat. It was no plea to gain sympathy that made him shut his eyes and struggle against them.

"Draco, no!"

Harry embraced him, drawing him into one of his arms. Draco saw when he peeked that Narcissa was holding Harry's other arm and showed no signs of letting him go. "That wasn't your fault," Harry continued earnestly. "It was completely the fault of whoever set up the spells so that giving him the dreambane purge would make the Maze react."

_You idiot, then—_

Once again, his mother might have read his mind. She tapped Harry's elbow and said, "And the reason that you had to take control of Draco's magic comes from the exact same source. Whatever it may have cost, Harry, the result is worth it."

Draco nodded. He had hidden his eyes against Harry's shoulder, because that was easiest right now, and he was no longer strong enough to do what looked best. "You thought of a solution in the midst of all that—screaming," he said. He glanced at the bed again, not quite able to believe that his father was lying there, horrid-looking but still alive, after the spectacle of his near-death. "I couldn't have. I was panicking, which is something I was taught never to do."

He briefly caught Narcissa's eye, and saw agreement there, but she did not scold him. He knew that she had barely clung to her own rationality in the face of Lucius's screaming.

"I was no better," she said softly, because Harry could not be expected to understand the silent communication she and Draco had just exchanged. "Under other crises, I have managed to retain my coolness of temper, but my husband has nearly died too often in the past fortnight. We owe you yet another debt, Harry, or we would, if it were reasonable to talk of members of the same family owing each other debts. For that reason, accept Draco's forgiveness and think no more of it. You have my blessing to do whatever you must in the name of saving Lucius."

"Mine as well," Draco added.

Harry's head flopped forwards as if someone had turned all the bones in his neck to water. He sighed, deeply enough to make Draco want to embrace him; he would have if his position were a little less awkward. He whispered, "Thank you," twice.

Draco nuzzled his nose into Harry's neck for a moment, and then looked back at Lucius and opened the kind of space in his memory that he usually used when studying potions. Harry touched the back of his neck, and the bright curiosity in his eyes was question enough without his speaking the words.

"I'm trying to memorize the way he looks," Draco said. "That way, I won't be inclined towards mercy when we punish the ones who did this to him."

He heard the soft but distinct sound of Harry's teeth grinding.

He ignored it. They were different people, and he understood the codes of the family better than Harry did. Harry would just have to learn to live with the fact of vengeance. There was no reason he had to watch if he didn't want to; of course, he wouldn't get to take the criminals to Azkaban the way he desired, but that was too bad.

"I know nothing about how potions might interact with spells like this," Harry said then, in a transparent attempt to distract Draco. "I'll need your help to figure that out."

Draco rested his forehead against Harry's chin, mostly because he wanted to. "You're hopeless at Potions, Potter," he said softly.

For that, he received a kiss into his hair. Draco closed his eyes and let himself rest there for long moments.

He would need the remembrance of this closeness and love when he began to brew the potions that would take vengeance on his enemies and Harry's Muggles.

*

"Mistress Narcissa."

Narcissa turned around with the thinnest of smiles. She had spent long enough, she thought, gazing into the mirror and making sure that no trace of her grief over Lucius remained, and now she was ready to do her part in bringing their enemies to justice.

_To justice. _Her tongue tapped against her teeth as she repeated the words to herself. They were strange words for a Malfoy to speak, and stranger for a Black. She wondered when she had begun to think of justice instead of vengeance.

_When Harry came into my life. Many things changed then. _

She focused on Rogers, who stood before her with a sheet of parchment in one hand. "Yes, Rogers?"

"Master Harry and Master Harry's clever friend is finding out who hurt Master Lucius," said Rogers gravely, and he held out the parchment.

Narcissa glanced at it, and almost smiled. The names there were familiar, very much so. _Burne-Jones. Neverlong. _Yes, they were families with Death Eater connections, as well as connections to the hospital administration. And Narcissa, though she had not visited the women of the family in a long time, had connections that would make such a visit at the moment seem not unusual.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the name of Foxe. _A nephew killed with Lucius's wand. Yes. It could be so, but I think not._

Of course she would investigate Foxe, simply to be sure. Someone who had hurt her husband would not be allowed to get away with it. But Narcissa knew to trust her instincts. She would visit Burne-Jones and Neverlong first.

She rose to her feet, faced the mirror again, and began to breathe deeply. She would not need to cast many glamours this time, as she had when she visited St. Mungo's, save to cover the marks of worry and lack of sleep. But the face she assumed when she went among the Death Eater wives was a mask of its own.

Mouth curved like a scimitar's blade. Eyes that looked wider and more knowing than they really were. Hands that flexed open and shut again, and rested at her waist as if she clasped the hilt of a sword, or the shaft of a second wand, between them.

"I am going," she said to Rogers, and swept out of the bedroom, absently casting the glamours as she went.

"Mistress Narcissa is having good hunting," said Rogers, in a tone too deep and bloodthirsty for a regular house-elf.

Narcissa let her lips curve a touch more. That kind of statement was why Rogers was her favorite house-elf.

*

Draco was so tired the words were blurring before his eyes. It seemed that his rest had been broken lately by worry about Lucius, worries about Harry, or the kind of intense and enervating dreams he usually had when he was trying to memorize all the aspects of a new potion.

And perhaps he was tired because of the drain of the Malfoy blood magic that Harry had pulled from him.

But still he read, because he needed to heal Lucius, and he needed to punish their enemies, and he needed to punish the Muggles. His thoughts were winging in six different directions at once. He dragged them back to the page in front of him and began to read against about potions ingredients that might be affected when used on an individual who had been under the _Congelo _charm.

Then Harry touched his shoulder and said, "Come on. You need to rest."

Draco stared up at him. He didn't know what his face looked like, but Harry's expression softened, and he kissed Draco on the cheek, his other hand sliding so gently through his hair it made Draco want to weep.

And if _that _wasn't a sign of how tired and desperate he was, he didn't know what was.

"I know the solution is here," Draco whispered. "I _know_ it is. If I can just find it—" His hands scrabbled over the sides of the table for a moment, and then he flushed and made himself stop. _There's no excuse for such a display of weakness even if I am tired at the moment_. "What if I go to bed, and that means I miss a discovery that could save his life?"

"That won't happen." Harry gently pulled him from the chair and towards the bedroom. Draco heard him murmuring Cleaning Charms as they went. He couldn't find the strength of will to be insulted. "Lucius is under the _Congelo_ charm. It won't fade."

"They might have put on some spell that could dissipate it." Draco twisted restlessly in Harry's arms, but that had more to do with wanting to stop the babble coming out of his mouth than it did with wanting to be free. Harry's concern felt like a touch of healing coldness on a burn. "We don't know enough about the Mirror Maze to say that they didn't."

"I know that much," Harry said. "I'm absolutely sure they didn't foresee this happening. In fact, the magic they used in the Maze might actually help the stasis spell endure, because they wanted him to remain alive as long as he could under the stress of such pain."

A sob slipped out of Draco before he could stop it. Harry laid him on the bed in his bedroom then, and his lips brushed Draco's cheek, ears, and mouth.

"Do you mind sleeping in your clothes?" Harry asked. "I'm afraid I don't have enough strength myself to undress you." Draco heard a yawn almost rip his jaw apart a moment later.

_He doesn't mind being weak in front of me. He's showing his weariness, his concern, his tried patience. This is what it means to really be honest. _

And that realization gave Draco courage enough to say what he did next.

"I mind sleeping alone," he said, and held out his hand.

Harry smiled and took it, climbing into bed with him. Draco turned dazedly towards him, resting his head in the crook between Harry's neck and shoulder.

_It's like a Gryffindor to find weakness charming, _he decided, but there was no rancor in the thought. He would find it difficult to muster rancor for Harry in the future, he decided.

A strong, warm hand stroked down his spine. Harry spoke soft words, or maybe only made wordless sounds, into his hair.

Draco fell asleep too quickly to hear Harry's own breaths deepen and slow, but he was certain they did.

*

"And I wanted to show Aunt Lina and Uncle Pierre my new dress robes, but I can't when they're by _themselves _all the time," Angela Burne-Jones finished with a dramatic sigh, throwing her hair behind her shoulder.

Narcissa made clucking noises of sympathy, holding her teacup in such a way that it shielded her mouth somewhat from the girl. She had been told before—mostly by Lucius, but he was not _always _a poor observer—that her mouth was most likely to betray her emotions, at least to a stranger.

She had had better luck than she had suspected. Instead of finding Lina Burne-Jones at home, she had discovered her niece Angela, a sixteen-year-old witch with boundless energy for shopping and displaying herself and a confidence in Narcissa that included a conviction she was of low intelligence, simply because she was older than Angela.

It was an inexplicable attitude, and Narcissa could only trace it to the girl's having never attended Hogwarts. Her Death Eater uncle and aunt, who had raised her, had been too nervous about having her exposed to Mudbloods. Instead, they had kept her home and had her tutored. Angela had been able to rule all the tutors just as she apparently ruled her family, and so had never learned to respect the authority of adults. She knew the entire world, her flashing eyes and rising and falling hands proclaimed; they didn't.

So far she had told Narcissa that her aunt and uncle had been recluses for the past few weeks, which was promising; it made matters sound as if they feared vengeance or had been involved in planning the complicated curse that had felled Lucius. Narcissa did not have proof yet, but—

"Oh, yes, this is the new painting that Uncle bought!" Angela said abruptly, clapping her hands together and beaming at Narcissa. She had risen from her gloom as suddenly as she had fallen into it. Narcissa was glad she had insisted on a traditional education for Draco. He had never been as open as this _child_, however much of himself he felt forced to expose around Harry. "Isn't it pretty?"

Narcissa looked up at the wall.

And then her breath rushed out of her lungs, because the picture that hung there was the same as a painting she had seen in the Neverlong house she had just come from visiting. It depicted a five-pointed star, but the mesh of lines within the star worked back and forth in such a complicated pattern that Narcissa could feel her head swimming when she tried to trace them with her eyes.

It also looked remarkably similar to the pattern the Mirror Maze had formed for a moment above her husband this afternoon, just before Harry neutralized it.

Narcissa changed her smile from hungry, which she knew it would have become the moment she recognized the pattern, to appreciative, and turned to Angela. "It's very pretty indeed, Angela," she said. "When did your uncle acquire it?"

"Oh, recently," said Angela, and moved up close to touch one gleaming red line. She tried to follow it with her finger, but had to give up. "The last few weeks. He said it was important, but not why." She turned to Narcissa and dropped her voice confidingly. "I think he's planning to make it the centerpiece of an art display that he's putting together for this autumn."

_Oh, doubtless, _Narcissa thought. For a moment, she considered whether Angela's story could be true, or the connection with Neverlong merely a coincidence. It seemed unbelievably arrogant of their enemies to have the Mirror Maze's pattern out where anyone could see it.

But then, it had been arrogant of them to attack Lucius in the first place. And they had no reason to think that Narcissa would visit them, singling them out from among the enormous number of wizards who could have constructed the curse. And the painting was not marked in any way; most people who saw it, even if they assigned a sinister meaning to it, would assume it marked the beginning of a new Order rather like the Death Eaters, rather than that it formed a Mirror Maze.

Yes, she would accept the evidence that had been handed to her.

"That's so pretty, Angela darling," she said decisively, "that I think I have to copy it for my son." She stopped herself from saying "my sons" with difficulty. It was not yet common knowledge among the pure-blood families that the Malfoys had adopted Harry Potter. "Do you have some parchment and a quill about?"

Angela gulped, and her eyes widened. "Oh, but I think Uncle would object if someone else had it on their wall before he showed it!" she said.

"I don't plan to display it publicly." Narcissa leaned forwards and lowered her own voice. "To tell the truth, dear, my husband is feeling rather—poorly at the moment. We will be staying close to home for the next short while. But we would love to have this painting as a source of beauty to gaze at."

_There. If Burne-Jones questions her, Angela could tell him a story that should satisfy him Lucius is still suffering. _

"Oh, of course." Angela gave her a glance of shining sympathy. "I know what it's like to have to stay confined to the house all the time! I'll send a house-elf to fetch the parchment and quill right away, and you can borrow my owl." She tripped off.

Narcissa gazed at the painting again, this time forcing herself to comprehend the angles and diagonals and subtle spiral pattern that the lines made. She would copy this for Harry, and he, at the least, should be able to diagnose whether it resembled the Mirror Maze.

And in the meantime…

Narcissa started to take up her wand, but hesitated. She had moved without thought to cast a plague spell that would ensure the Burne-Jones family suffered in lingering pain for at least two decades, but now Harry's face was in her head, blotting out even the pattern.

_He would hate it if I took vengeance. _

_He need not find out…_

_But he is a mediwizard. He is more likely to find out than otherwise. _

Narcissa paused one moment more, on the brink between action and inaction. Then she tucked her wand back into her sleeve as Angela skipped across the drawing room to hand her the parchment.

_The trust and love of my son means more to me than suffering that I will not even observe._


	29. That Such People Exist

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Nine—That Such People Exist_

Draco woke.

Unlike his other awakenings lately, it wasn't sudden, filled with a pounding heart, snatches of dreams he couldn't remember, and immediate plans. It came as slowly as dawn across his eyelids and his soul, and he had stirred and pressed close to the warm body sprawled against him before he realized that it really had no right to be there.

And yet, his eyes opened without alarm, as though his body remembered the truth before his memory did.

Harry lay next to him, one arm around Draco's shoulders, fingers tangled with his hair, the other draped above his head, as though he had fallen asleep halfway through a stretch. His chest moved easily, without the sobs of nightmare, without pain. Draco laid a hand on it and felt the warmth rise and fall.

Harry had eased Draco to sleep so gently that he had managed several hours of it without worrying about his father, and then he had joined him. Draco remembered asking for that, but it seemed strange that it should have been granted, just a few days after Harry was so adamant about Draco's not joining him in his bed.

Where they now were.

Draco cast a glance around the rooms, wondering if Harry would want to keep them when he became lovers, or if he would consent to come to Draco's chambers. Or perhaps they would be like Lucius and Narcissa, who did have their own separate bedrooms where they spent much of their time, but could move back and forth among them, share the two beds, and meet on "neutral territory," in areas of the Manor that neither claimed, when they wanted to.

_That's what we can offer Harry, _Draco thought, his hand rising to stroke Harry's hair this time. _Choices in return for his choices, gift in return for free gift. He's giving us the ability to live without fear for Father, and in return, I hope he'll appreciate the gifts of space and freedom._

Harry stirred, and Draco stopped his stroking; he didn't want to interrupt the rest that Harry appeared to need. But Harry's eyes opened anyway, and Draco found himself impatient to see the sleep-drugged haze clear from them once they did.

"Harry? Harry, wake up."

Harry's eyes cleared, and then he arched his neck and brushed his lips against Draco's in a kiss so gentle, natural, and sweet that Draco had to blink fast to keep his eyes from flooding with tears.

Draco moaned once, and then broke the kiss, because he _knew _he would weep if it continued. He embraced Harry and dropped his cheek onto Harry's collarbone again, where he had vague memories of its being when he fell asleep. "How did you do that?" he murmured. "I feel more hopeful about my father already, even though we haven't _done_ anything yet."

Then he froze, wondering if it was a confession of weakness, if Harry would take it that way, the way Narcissa and Lucius most certainly would have—

But Harry laughed and began to massage his shoulders in a way that showed he had been paying attention when Draco gave him that massage in the library a few days ago. "It's not me, it's the sleep."

_Of course. Deny you have done anything good or great. It seems to be your way. _But for the first time, Draco's thoughts were tinged with affection instead of pure exasperation. He rolled his head slightly so he could look at Harry with one eye. "But you still knew when I needed to go to bed," he said.

"If you're determined to give someone credit for that, it should be Hermione. She's the one who reminded me that we both needed to rest."

_Determined? Less determined to give credit than to hear you claim it, Harry. _But Draco knew where that statement would get him at the moment, so he persisted in a soft, half-innocent tone. "Why did you rest _with_ me?"

Silence for a moment, but Harry replied without any trace of offense in his voice. "Because I wanted to. And because you asked. And because you've shown that you can keep your more unreasonable demands under control."

_Simple. So simple. The kind of motivations I suppose might underlie my own decisions, but I have been taught not to see them._

For the first time, Draco wondered if it was a weakness, this understanding of the human mind and heart that his parents had insisted he attain to, and the constant analysis that was necessary to keep his position against those minds and hearts around him true.

But he didn't think he knew the answer, and he doubly didn't think that he could change even if he wanted to. He forced himself to think of other things.

"Is that all it takes to get around a declaration you make?" Draco made sure he sounded both surprised and smug. "You're easier to handle than I imagined."

Harry swatted him on the shoulder, and Draco heard a mild chuckle. He reveled in that enough to reveal a bit more weakness and possibly sound like a pouty child. "I'm hungry."

The _crack _of Rogers appearing was instant, and stole some of the force of the declaration. Draco rolled over when he smelled venison, and fresh fruit, and ice cream, and newly-baked bread. His stomach gave a little burble, but it was lost, he thought, in Rogers' words and in the fact that Harry was already moving to the end of the bed as if he thought Rogers needed help in carrying the tray.

"Master Harry and Master Draco are needing many different kinds of strength." And the elf stepped back, leaving Harry to pile the food on the plates.

_Time to see how much he really has learned to appreciate the things about me that once irritated him. _"Fetch me bacon," Draco said, his voice deliberately prissy. "And some of the chocolate, and some of the ice cream. And then you can come here and feed me strawberries with your fingers."

Harry snorted. He did place the food Draco had requested on a plate, but then he gave it to him, in a way that said he wouldn't be adverse to dumping the food all down Draco's shirt if he didn't sit up. Draco gave him a disappointed stare. Harry shrugged. "What can I say? Kisses are one thing when a patient is sick, but sex is another."

Draco ducked his head so his hair shielded his face, and took the first bite of chocolate, in part so he wouldn't ruin the mood with a sneer at Harry. _Sex is another indeed. Has he really never lost himself in sex with one of his lovers when a patient was sick or a case had him frustrated? _

Knowing Harry, and knowing the quality of the people who had taken him to bed before this, Draco decided it was entirely possible he hadn't. And though he was confident he could break Harry of that bad habit, he didn't want to try to do it at the moment, when they both had food on their laps and Harry was feeling kindly disposed to him.

Instead, he watched Harry under his fringe as the other man ate, occasionally pausing to lick bacon grease from his fingers, at least until Draco levitated some napkins towards him. Harry accepted them with a nod, and refused to look embarrassed. Draco rolled his eyes in silence, and continued studying his table manners. Polite enough, though not as polished as a pure-blood upbringing would have required, and perhaps that showed the Muggles could teach him something appropriate after all.

But Draco also saw the sometimes violent way Harry snatched at food, and the way he ate it quickly once he had it, as if he didn't quite believe someone wouldn't come along in a moment to take it away. Draco's lips tightened. _They did starve him. I wonder if he ever hoarded food? _

And then the perfect idea of revenge came shining to him, so that Draco had to hide his smile with his own piece of bacon so that Harry wouldn't glance up and wonder what he was grinning about, in the midst of sorrow.

_I know. If they deprived him of food, then the best revenge would be a potion that did the same, but in such a way that it's not easy for them to simply vomit it up and forget about it. A permanent potion. A violent potion. A cruel potion._

Draco began to daydream, because the best potion was not actually in existence; rather, he would need to combine a potion that left the drinker always hungry and one that reduced the taste of any food to that of ashes. He ate as he dreamed, and was surprised to look down and discover that his plate was empty. He thought about fetching more, but refrained when Harry eyed the platter. If he wanted more food, then he should have his free choice.

Rogers approached the bed then, bowing and extending a piece of parchment. "This is Mistress Narcissa's response," he said.

_Ah. My mother must have gone to spy on the responsible Death Eater families already, _Draco decided, and came close so he could read the letter, which Harry had taken. Harry, meanwhile, was glaring at Rogers. Draco decided not even to attempt to decipher that. He thought the years Harry had spent around his Mudblood and Weasel friends had skewed his sense of priorities towards house-elves strangely.

_My sons_, the letter began, and Draco was absurdly pleased that Narcissa had referred to Harry that way, if only because it would show Harry even more how accepted he was within the family.

_I have now been to visit the Burne-Jones and Neverlong houses. I made sure to choose female relatives I thought would not know about the plan, so they would have no reason to suspect me, but might betray incriminating answers from innocent ignorance. They have confirmed that their Death Eater relatives have spent much time by themselves lately; Angela Burne-Jones in particular complained about this, as she had wanted to show her new dress robes to her aunt and uncle._

_More significantly, in each house was a new painting of a star-shaped pattern, which I have sketched below. Both the ladies seemed very proud of it, and mentioned that it was a recent purchase, a sign of some alliance pending between families. They thought it to be a marriage alliance. Might it have something to do with Lucius's condition?_

Harry hissed under his breath when he saw the pattern, which Draco did think, after a glance, looked like the Mirror Maze he had seen hovering above his father's body. He was occupied, however, with his mother's wording. Marriage alliances were not conducted by an exchange of paintings among pure-blood families, though sometimes other gifts were given. It was unlike his mother to bother with a silly lie such as that, though of course Harry would not know it was a lie. Draco wondered if she had been distracted by something else as she wrote, and therefore had written down the words without thinking about them, as a sloppy kind of protective camouflage if someone besides Harry or Draco read the letter.

_And if she was distracted by something, what was it?_

"This is the pattern of the Mirror Maze in Lucius's mind," Harry said quietly, holding the parchment out to Draco. "I'm sure of it. How that would make the Maze interact with the dreambane purge, I don't know, but—"

Draco did. His eye had lighted at once on the spiral pattern that prevailed in the heart of the Maze, meshed around though it was with clinging webs and lines. "No wonder the bloody potion didn't work. Nothing with dandelion seeds in it would work, laid against a star-pattern like this. There are variations of the purge that the books recommended, but I had no reason to think that the standard potion wouldn't suffice."

Harry laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, you didn't."

Comfort, and instinctive now. Draco looked up with a fierce grin. _Father is not the only one who will profit from having a Healer in the family. Mother is not the only one he cares for._

"I can tell you how the potions I try next would work with this pattern, if you can tell me how you plan to undo the spells and in what order."

Harry smiled, said, "Let's go, then," and stood.

Draco followed him to the library. It was one of the first times he had done research in company—if he did research with other students in the Potions mastery program, it was too likely to become competition for honors—and he thought he could grow used to it.

*

Narcissa shook her head ruefully as she sank into the chair beside Lucius's bed. She didn't know what she had been thinking when she sent that letter to Harry and Draco. She had intended the lie about marriage alliances to be one she _spoke _to Angela Burne-Jones, so the family would think she had mistaken the painting entirely and come up with a stupid story on her own, and not suspect her. Instead, she had written it into the letter.

And why? Because she had been too busy devising schemes that would justify her vengeance on the Burne-Jones and Neverlong families, and discarding every one of them as she imagined the look in Harry's eyes.

_I have perhaps allowed one son to have too much influence over my actions, as the other has long had his share of influence over my heart._

Narcissa sighed and leaned back in the chair, her eyes intent on Lucius's face. He lay unchanging, of course, under the _Congelo _spell that Harry had cast, but Narcissa could find enough to look at in the still lines of his mouth, in his eyelids that always seemed about to tremble though she knew they couldn't, and in the carved nose that had caught and held her attention when she met Lucius for the first time; he had reminded her almost of Severus Snape in looks even though he was more beautiful.

And as she looked at her husband, red-black anger rose in her. She could not let the enemies who had done this to him escape unscathed.

But neither could she hurt them too badly, because Harry would be hurt if she did. He might even turn away in disgust and horror. Narcissa had never been certain how well Gryffindor morality and conscience matched the sense of "fair play" that seemed to lead them to think Slytherins and Dark wizards dying in war was fine.

"What can I do, Lucius?" she asked her husband. "Two laws of our family are in conflict, and whilst that has happened before, I do not remember it happening in such a pitched battle. We must demonstrate our strength; we must avenge any wounds that members of the family suffer. That is a sign of love. But we must also protect the members of our family, and do nothing that will alienate them forever. The Malfoys can survive other conflicts, as long as everyone remains safe within the walls of the home. Long confinement and shared goals will force them to forgive each other eventually.

"I fear Harry would not remain here if I violated his moral conscience too badly. But then, would you feel I did not love you enough, if I did not seek to humiliate and destroy those who have done this to you?"

Narcissa reached out a hand as if she could break through the time-stopping charm and touch her husband's face, though she knew very well she couldn't. In the end, her hand fell back to her side, and she occupied herself with simply looking, the thoughts racing through her head and circling around.

The anger burned like a cloud of smoke and flame; the thought of hurting Harry doused it like water; her love for Lucius kindled it again.

_It is all very well to talk of the conflict of love and duty, the way Mudbloods do, but they say little of the conflict of love against love._

*

They gathered in Lucius's bedroom two days later, and no one said anything, Draco thought, because there was nothing to say.

He had sent his mother a message explaining the delay; they wanted to be absolutely sure that the new potion would work on rats before they tested it on Lucius. His mother had accepted that. Now she stood out of the way, her gaze passing back and forth between her sons' faces but revealing nothing of what she felt. If she had not felt enough trust to let them continue, though, she would have stopped them by now.

Harry was trembling as he looked at Lucius. Draco wondered if it was from the sheer magnitude of what they were about to do or because the _Congelo _charm had frozen everything, including the blood on Lucius's face and body. Of course, it was not like either a hero or a Healer to faint at the sight of blood, but maybe Harry had never had a love of seeing such things.

Narcissa moved up behind Harry as he lifted his wand and it shook. "I trust you," she murmured.

Draco gave her a loving look that she returned fully. He wanted to tell her how much it meant to him, that she would give this reassurance, but he doubted he would have the chance before Harry had to act.

Harry began to chant.

He rolled through the spells with a confidence that Draco would have found almost offensive, if he didn't know how great a nervousness that confidence hid. Harry had woken in sweats and shaking for the last two nights; the rest they'd shared together in his bed had been his last unbroken one. Draco had opened his eyes several times on his divan in the lab to see Harry pacing back and forth, reciting incantations under his breath and lifting his wand as if he would curse himself for each mistake.

But now he went through them, and Draco could feel the tension in the air, the peeling back of magic, the fading of spells that had been meant to destroy his father, and the way Harry's power twisted back and forth, like an invisible creature made solely of fangs.

Once, the Mirror Maze appeared as a dark reflection over Lucius's face, strong enough to cast a shadow on his cheekbones. Draco tensed. But it faded in the next moment, and Draco thought he heard the faint scream that powerful Dark curses sometimes gave when slain.

He grinned, and moved a step closer to Harry, ready to lend magical strength if it were needed.

But Harry chanted on, never a faltering, never a hesitation, though his eyes were fixed and staring, wide and desperate.

Draco felt humbled as the words rolled on. He knew most of the spells Harry defeated, but he couldn't have cast them with the same uninterrupted concentration Harry was using to remove them. In fact, he doubted he could have brewed this fast. He always liked to pause and consult the recipe when he had time; it was better to have a slight delay and a small blow to his pride than to brew the potion wrong. Besides, the renewal of memory always meant he was likely to brew it right at some later date.

Harry danced on, his skill and his grace growing as his voice sang out the last notes of the last of the spells.

_How can he say he's not a Healer? _Draco's heart was pounding, hard and gladly, the way it always did when he was a witness to some spectacle of great beauty or wonder. _Not one in a hundred of them can do what he just did. And a mediwizard is just a name, one that may conceal a great deal of skill._

The moment came when he would need to pour the dreambane purge down Lucius's throat, just before Harry removed the Permanency Spell that had been meant to make the Dark curses endure despite all attempts to remove them. Draco stepped up to Lucius's head and looked down at his father's face, still covered with clotted blood. It seemed, nevertheless, to be freer and more relaxed than it had been. The shadows of most of the curses that had harmed him were gone.

Harry was waiting. Draco looked up and held his eyes as he poured the potion down Lucius's throat, rubbing firmly to make sure he swallowed. Harry whispered the final _Finite._

The air turned cold. Draco felt a coil of power struggling and lashing against the bonds of Harry's, trying to get back to Lucius as Harry's magic flooded around it like a river and separated it from its hold. Narcissa took a step forwards as the contest continued, which Draco knew was unusual; it was not as though she could _do_ anything, and most of the time she would have known that.

He had a hard time holding himself in check, even knowing that the potion was his only contribution here.

And then the tension snapped, and the Dark power drained away. Lucius lay there, free at last of all curses, of all poisons.

Harry swayed on his feet. Narcissa made a tearing sound in her throat.

Draco smiled at Harry as he laid a hand on his father's hair, and tried his best to flood the smile with every emotion he felt at the moment: gratitude, affection, pride, admiration, and lust from the sheer strength of Harry's magic.

It must have worked, because Harry flushed.


	30. Recognition

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty—Recognition_

Draco sighed as he watched Harry, _finally_, beginning to stir towards wakefulness. His mother had told him not to be worried; the Healing Harry had performed was powerful in itself, and his wrestling with the Dark magic had made it more so. It was only expected that he would need a rest after something like that.

But the length of Harry's rest had troubled Draco, and so had his mother's insistence on staying with Lucius the entire time, as if she cared about her newest son less than her husband. It had been Draco who put a half-fainting Harry to bed and sat with him, beside him, his hand sometimes on Harry's shoulder and sometimes feeling his heartbeat. He had carried that heartbeat through the darkness with him even whilst he drowsed.

But now Harry's eyelids fluttered, and Draco could finally release some of his tension.

"It's been ten hours now."

Harry looked up at him, his eyes innocent and his hair indecent. Draco had to stifle the growl pushing through him. He could think of one other and far more pleasurable way to release tension, but he wasn't sure that Harry would be ready for that yet.

"I've been asleep ten hours?" Harry tried to add something else, but a yawn cut him off. He stretched his arms above his head and then grimaced. A pain in his neck, Draco judged, from the way he was rolling it.

"Ten hours since you cured my father," Draco corrected, though, in reality, Harry's sleep had lasted almost the same length of time. "And he's sitting up, eating, talking, and sleeping without ill effects." He got up on his knees, so he could reach Harry's neck better. "Drinking healing potions to ensure his skin doesn't scar, though that, he does complain about. Here," he added, as Harry shook himself. "Let me."

He grabbed Harry's shoulders and pressed both his thumbs at once into Harry's neck. Harry arched like someone under the Cruciatus, but he had done that during the first massage Draco gave him, too. He continued pressing, and then Harry collapsed most beautifully under him and gave light little gasping breaths that drove Draco absolutely mad.

"You don't make the potions sweet for him?" Harry murmured. "If you did that for me, surely you can do it for him."

_I'm amazed he knows enough about Potions to recognize that the ones I gave him tasted unusual. _But Draco's arousal was also fired by the fact that Harry had bothered to pay enough attention to recognize the sweetness in the first place. "No one deserves sweetness more than you do," he said, in the voice that he usually used to seduce lovers. He leaned forwards, arching over Harry, grinding his erection against Harry's arse as much as possible. He had gone quickly from half-hard to entirely so. "And I want to give it to you. Let me."

"Yes," sighed Harry.

Draco could not stop the triumph welling up within him. He had _known _this day would come; he had _known _Harry could not hold out against the combined efforts of his family and Draco's own gifts. But he had not realized how dazzling and warmth the lust would feel as it crowded through him and joined the triumph, like the effect of lightning.

He nipped the back of Harry's neck. "Roll over," he demanded.

Harry began to. Draco could feel his emotions boiling, churning, and suspected they would overflow the moment he saw Harry's eyes.

And then Rogers had Apparated into the room, and was announcing from the end of the bed, "Mistress Granger is wanting to speak to Master Harry through the fire."

_No_, Draco thought. _No._

"It can wait," he said. _I can't, _he thought but didn't say aloud; he knew Rogers would disapprove of such things. He was sliding his hands under Harry's robes, and there was nothing better than the touch of warm skin, or the way Harry kept starting as Draco glided his hands along his ribs, as if he were impressed by how good it felt in spite of himself. "So can that breakfast, for that matter," he added, because he knew Rogers would be carrying breakfast. He bit Harry's shoulder, and Harry moaned from the depths of his soul. Draco exulted again. _No one else has ever made him feel like this. No one else will ever make him feel this way again. They won't have the chance. _He licked the outside of the bite, then mouthed it the way a Crup would mouth a dead Muggle. "Come back later, Rogers."

"Mistress Granger will be calling back and calling back," Rogers said. "Rogers does not want to be making up excuses for Masters Harry and Draco fucking whilst there are still enemies abroad."

Harry took a deep breath, then rolled over completely and took Draco's wrists in his hands. He looked up into his face, but only briefly, as if the sight of the passion that Draco knew he was showing was too much for him. Glancing down again, he blushed and murmured, "Later." Draco brushed his erection against Harry's arse again. Harry shuddered, but said, "Think of how much better it will be when we have no distractions."

_That does sound better. _But Draco knew that Harry often changed his mind when he had some time to get an emotional distance from a situation, so he slid his cock along Harry's entrance again. Harry grunted as though the motion had been Draco actually sliding into him.

"So long as you promise," Draco said. "I _want_ this."

Harry licked his lips, which he wouldn't have done had he known how much that made Draco's cock ache. But he was still half-coy, in the way he avoided Draco's eyes and with the past remembrance of how he had rebuffed Draco's advances hanging around him.

"I do promise," he said. "And do you really think I want it less?"

"I don't know." Draco turned his voice coy too, and all but fluttered his eyelashes at Harry. "I know you didn't seem enthusiastic at first, and then the few touches of eagerness I saw in your face were overwhelmed by concern for my father, to the point that I almost thought it was him you came to the Manor for."

Harry spread his legs—just the sight made Draco's hips twitch—and rolled to the side. Draco could see and feel the thick line of Harry's erection against his robes now. "I came for both of you," he said. "I just didn't realize the truth at the time. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Forgiven," said Draco. "With your promise to resume later." He brushed the back of one finger against Harry's groin and watched with delight as his eyes rolled back in his head. "So long as you only come _for_ me in the future."

And then he moved to the end of the bed and began choosing among the breakfast foods Rogers had brought. He saw no need to hurry to the fireplace simply for Granger's sake.

Harry cleared his throat and moved up to kneel beside him, adjusting his position several times. It wasn't really Draco's fault that he needed to help balance Harry by brushing his wrists against his as they ate.

*

Draco followed Harry into the small library where Granger was waiting at the Floo, and stood behind him, and put an arm across his shoulders. Harry stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. Draco was glad that he had absorbed the silent message of the arm. _You're mine, and you're as much mine in front of your friends as anywhere else._

Granger wore a smile that she didn't drop, but her eyes did narrow at Draco as if she thought that he was trying to take advantage of someone helpless. She also barely nodded to him. Draco tolerated it. One _did _have low expectations of Mudbloods, after all, even if he was willing to put up with Granger because she was Harry's friend.

"I have fairly solid proof about who cursed Mr. Malfoy," said Granger. Harry shivered, for some reason. Draco leaned closer to him. "I finally found a witness who was more curious than the rest and less loyal to his family. He eavesdropped on a meeting between Burne-Jones and Neverlong. They were the ones who came up with the first ideas for the curse and chose Smythe as an appropriate dupe to cast it. He'll require a payment from your vaults, Harry. Can you manage that?"

Draco didn't even let Harry make the ridiculous answer to that he would probably try to make. "He'll have whatever he wants from the Malfoy ones."

"Good." Granger reached behind her, found a Pensieve, and passed it through the fire. "He's also agreed to confess under Veritaserum in a small setting with only a few people present, if that's necessary," Granger added.

"Hopefully it won't be." Harry handed the Pensieve to Draco. Draco cradled it and stared into it. Here was the secret of who had cursed his father. Here was the proof that would give them some idea of what sort of vengeance they should exact. Malfoys always liked to craft a vengeance that had the shape or shadow of the offense, if possible, the way he had decided on hunger potions for a Muggle family who had starved the wizarding child in their care.

"Thank you, Hermione. How can we repay _you_?" Harry said.

"Make sure that Burne-Jones, Neverlong, Foxe, and the rest are tried fairly," Granger said, "not subjected to vigilante justice."

Draco sucked in his breath, but said nothing. It was not as though Granger would ever _know_, if he and his family chose to take revenge. He was more worried about Harry's reaction.

And, of course, Harry reacted stupidly. "Of course I want them to have fair trials," he said. "The last thing I want is suspicion to cling to my adopted family. And their families would probably be quite willing to turn in the Malfoys for hurting their loved ones, even if they disapproved or didn't know about the original plan to curse Lucius."

_No, Harry. That's not the way it works. We take our retaliation and guard ourselves against our enemies giving us any._

"You never finished listening to the Malfoy laws," Draco said, and pressed his arm down on Harry's shoulders. "One of them is vengeance. No one is allowed to get away with hurting a Malfoy."

Harry gave a sigh, muttered something to Granger that Draco didn't bother to pay attention to because he knew it couldn't be important, and then turned around to face Draco. "Listen," he said. He rubbed his cheek against Draco's hand, which was sweet of him, but wouldn't help to change Draco's mind. "You let Emptyweed get away with only a headache, even though he could have told us about the conspirators earlier and even though he cast the headache curse on me."

_No, I didn't. And now, if ever, he needs to understand the spell I cast, because otherwise he'll think I'm softer than I am, and more amenable to persuasion by ideals I don't share. Honesty, Mother said was necessary, and he must understand us as we understand him._

"You were paying too much attention to my words and not enough to my wand movements," Draco said. "I cast a nonverbal spell that will give him a permanent headache, lasting the rest of his life. I thought it fit payment for the kind of low-grade, constant suffering he caused you."

"You did _what_?" Granger shrieked. Draco had to admit that he liked the look of outrage on her face more than the expression taking over Harry's. Hers was simple, and uncomplicated, and could be more easily fought.

So he did, raising an eyebrow at Granger. "It's all right," he said. "There's no way he'll trace it back to our family, since I _Obliviated_ him. He'll certainly never remember coming to the Manor."

"It's the fact that you did it at all," Granger began, and Draco settled himself to enjoy, and then rebut, a very Gryffindor lecture.

And Harry stood up, so that he was between Granger and Draco, and cut them off from one another. Draco blinked and stared at Harry. Did he really think Draco needed protection from a Mudblood? Not that Harry would thank him for calling her what she was, of course.

"In the future," Harry said, voice so quiet Draco had to lean forwards to hear him, "don't do such things."

_Oh, Harry. You should really know better than to think that tactic will work with me, given what Emptyweed did to you. _

"I have to protect you," he said. It was a set of words too simple for the problem Harry represented, but Draco didn't care. He needed to put this into simple words so that Harry would understand the differences between them in the first place. After all, no one could stop Harry from Healing, could they? So he ought to understand that no one could stop Draco from protecting his family.

Harry smiled. "I appreciate the impulse," he said. Granger snorted, but Harry didn't pay any attention to her, so it would have been undignified for Draco to do it in his place. "But it makes me uncomfortable when someone hurts others for my sake. Whether that hurt is physical, magical, financial, or otherwise," he added, rushing on as Draco tried to open his mouth. "In self-defense or the heat of battle, it's one thing, but I still tried to use non-fatal spells on the people who attacked me in hospital."

_And there are more enemies to repay. Why did I not think of that sooner? _

"I'll find them," he told Harry, and made sure his voice was impressively deep, his face impressively angry. He didn't want Harry to think his forgetfulness meant Draco cared about him any less. "And I'll make them suffer."

"But that's exactly what I'm asking you not to do." Harry lowered his voice even more and stared directly into Draco's face, until Draco felt as if his eyes should cross. Harry smoothed his hands up and down his cheeks, and Draco had to fight not to close his eyes and sway into the motion. "Unless what I want doesn't matter to you?"

Shock caused Draco to speak the obvious words before he thought about restraining himself. "You're being _manipulative_."

"Then I fit right into this family, don't I?" Harry asked, and smiled.

Draco bit his lip. He wrestled for a moment with the odd idea that Harry would prefer a display of affection that involved justice instead of vengeance, and then he remembered the problem with that, even if Draco could possibly agree.

He folded his arms and said, "They also hurt my father. And if you think Father and Mother will be content to let our enemies go unpunished for doing that, then you have not learned anything about them at all."

"I'll speak with them," said Harry. Draco blinked at the implacable tone in his voice. _And he really thinks he can convince them? He does have a good opinion of himself, doesn't he?_ "For now, there's something I need to say to Hermione. Why don't you go see Lucius and Narcissa and prepare them for our talk? You can even tell them exactly what you want to say and make up a secret strategy to use against me. You won't find me so easy to convince."

Draco walked towards the door of the library, because remaining to wrestle with Harry on the issue was not something he wished to do in front of Granger, and because he had healing potions to brew for Lucius. He did pause with his hand on the door and look back, but Harry was still gazing at him calmly, as much to say that he preserved the ridiculous idea about conquering Draco and Draco's parents.

Draco shut the door behind him at last, and went to speak to Lucius and Narcissa. They would have to be strong, yes, but they would also have to be gentle, so that their attempt to show Harry the truth did not drive him away as Draco's attempt to show him the truth about the necessity of staying in the house had.

*

By the time Harry opened the door and entered Lucius's rooms, Draco was calm again. His parents knew the code of the Malfoys better than he did; they had lived by the laws for so many years that those laws were part of their bones. They would present arguments Harry could not ignore without rupturing the bonds between his family and him, which Draco no longer believed possible.

"If you will, Lucius," Narcissa murmured, as Harry shut the door and leaned against it.

"The fourteenth law of the Malfoys," said Lucius, in judicious tones that made Draco intolerably proud of his father, "calls for the protection of the family. No insult shall be suffered when it can be avenged. The authorities at any time are unlikely to do much for us. We must dispense our own justice, our own mercy, and our own punishment, as we must reward our best friends in secret if we would keep any allies at all. You shall remember this, and carefully contrive subtle and suitable punishments for those who hurt us, that others may fear and hesitate to harm a Malfoy again."

_There, _Draco thought. _Harry is many things, but he's not eloquent. He won't be able to match that. _

From Harry's next words, it seemed he didn't intend to try. "Well," he said, "_that_ doesn't make much sense."

Draco wasn't too busy staring at Harry in astonishment to miss the subtle twitch of his mother's lips. He wondered what in the world she was thinking. This was not amusing, and from the way Lucius spoke, he was firmly on Draco's side.

"And why not?" Lucius asked. "I must admit it sounds very attractive to me, having endured the pain that I did." He ran a hand over the fading scars on the side of his cheek. Draco scanned them with a professional eye, and then gave a small nod of relief. The healing potions had not had time to complete their work yet, but their progress so far told Draco that in the end they would leave his father as he had been before the attack. That was well. There enemies could not be allowed to _mark _them.

"It wants you to punish people in secret, and yet do it in such a way that everyone will fear you?" Harry snorted rudely.

Draco relaxed. _That's not a contradiction, and it's not an argument._

"The ones who matter will know," Lucius said gravely. "In this case, the members of the Burne-Jones and Neverlong families who were not involved in the plot against me, and any Death Eaters or 'victims' of mine who might have declined to avenge themselves this way. They will know the risk is not worth it." His hands twitched on the covers. Draco wondered what curses were running through his mind right now; he hadn't taken a chance to consult with his parents on what suitable revenge would be, so much as on the difficulty of taking revenge at all that Harry's "code" presented.

"You have enemies who were clever and brutal enough to devise this curse and cast it on you in the first place, through a dupe who, I'm sure, had no idea what he was doing," Harry said.

He was still calm, still determined, from the look in his eyes and the lazy position of his body. Draco found it simultaneously attractive and disturbing. He wanted to add his voice to the conversation, but he had tried to persuade Harry before and got nowhere. It was best to leave this contest up to his father.

"Smythe did not, no." Lucius smiled. "We have looked through the memories in the Pensieve."

Draco relaxed. Yes, that was another advantage he had forgotten; Narcissa, ever practical, had insisted on examining the memories in Granger's Pensieve before they began to discuss what they should do about Harry. And Harry had not seen them, so he had no idea what the evidence was.

"They are few and the explanation straightforward," Lucius continued. "When they had put the curse together, which took many tries, according to our informant, they had to work extensively with Smythe to be sure that he would cast it correctly and scatter his saliva with the dreambane on me at the same time. Many of the minor spells were linked together not so much to cause me to suffer as to baffle any attempts at healing."

"And the families of people like _that_ are the ones you want to enrage," Harry said flatly.

*

There were times when Narcissa knew which way a conversation or a contest would work out. It was no intuition she could control; if she could have, then she might have prevented Lucius from some rather egregious mistakes in her time. But it came and went like sunlight through trees.

It flashed now. She knew Harry was going to win this struggle, and that contented her, despite her desire, hotter than ever inside her, to see those who had hurt Lucius suffer. Besides her loyalty to her husband and her loyalty to her son, there was also her loyalty to reality, which had made her seek help for Draco when he was assigned a task beyond his strength, and accept that she should lie to the Dark Lord when she realized Harry was still alive in the Forbidden Forest, because someone who could survive the Killing Curse twice would win the war. If two of the loyalties were in agreement, then she could stand against the third one without feeling divided.

"This time, we shall be prepared for them. And it's at least possible that they won't seek revenge." Lucius said that with a hidden tremor in his words, though Narcissa doubted Harry noticed. Someone had to know him well to notice such things.

"Do you believe they won't?" Harry asked quickly.

_Or perhaps he did, _Narcissa thought, and opened her eyes in time to see her husband shake his head.

"Then I think this is stupid," Harry said. "You risk drawing down danger on yourselves when you're still vulnerable—"

Narcissa _looked _at him.

"We risk drawing down danger on ourselves," Harry corrected himself. Narcissa gave him a small smile, and Harry half-ducked his head, a smile of shy pleasure touching the corners of his lips. "If we let the Aurors take charge of this, those families will blame the Ministry and not us. There's no risk of getting in trouble with the Aurors for _our_ revenge, either. We buy time for Lucius to recover, because the remaining enemies won't move whilst the _Prophet's_ attention is on us, will they?"

"No," said Draco, in a faint voice. "They have similar laws about the lack of wisdom in drawing publicity to their vengeance." Glancing at her son in turn, Narcissa saw him looking overwhelmed, as if he might faint at any moment. She frowned thoughtfully. She would have to find out whether Draco might have any trace of her innate gift of intuition in him, or whether it could be taught. Then he would not be thrown so far off-balance by the mere reversal of a contest.

"Well, then." Harry made a motion as if he were brushing invisible dust off his hands. "There's one more advantage. If this is the fourteenth law of the Malfoys, it stands to reason that it's fairly far down the list, and the others are more important. I think we have a better chance of survival if we live through our revenge vicariously."

Draco muttered, "Granger must have taught you that word."

Narcissa glanced at him sidelong again. It was ill-bred of him to act so petty when Harry had pulled a rather elegant reversal, combating Malfoy laws with Malfoy laws, which should be respected.

"And you can go on showing me how to settle into the family. My comfort and safety, in this case, is more important than revenge." Harry looked at Draco with a light in his eyes that reassured Narcissa, at last, that the love her son had given was more than fully returned.

"I agree with Harry," Narcissa said, because it was time for her intervention. "You know that I've disagreed with drawn-out revenge from the beginning, Lucius." Her husband's nostrils flared. Narcissa did not care. What she said was the truth; she had favored something sharp, a swift curse that would descend and then leave again without giving Burne-Jones and Neverlong a chance to guess where it came from. "I don't want you to make the same mistake that Neverlong and Burne-Jones did by giving you time to get treatment and figure out who was behind the attack. And as we can think of nothing that would be sharp, sufficiently painful, and yet undetectable, turning the matter over to the Aurors is the best course."

"There may be something yet," said Lucius. "There are several books of Dark curses in the library that I haven't looked through in years."

Narcissa knew the observation was addressed more to her than it was to Harry. She turned enough so that Lucius could see her smile fully, and he faltered.

"And I was helpless during most of this," Draco said, his cheeks flushed. "I want to do something."

_And _that _one is addressed to Harry, _Narcissa thought. Luckily, Harry had a response.

"Helping Lucius recover with your potion wasn't enough?" Harry asked.

"I want to hurt someone. That's different from healing."

Harry simply narrowed his eyes, as if to say that he didn't think any response to that was possible, and faced Narcissa. "Of all the people in this room," he said, "you and I are most likely to get our wish."

_He prepared something before he entered the room, _Narcissa thought, her eyebrows rising but her heart filled with pride. _Oh, I knew he had learned the lessons of being a Malfoy well. _

Lucius spoke in a cold voice that Narcissa knew was his attempt to recover control of the situation. She disapproved. Like Draco, he should learn to recognize when he had been defeated and accept that gracefully. "Malfoys owe loyalty to the first of their name, Harry. You will tell me what you have done at once."

Harry faced Lucius slowly, drawing out the tension. Narcissa had to think hard about Bellatrix's madness to keep from smiling.

"My friend Hermione Granger, who works in the Ministry and discovered most of this information for us, has already alerted the Aurors. If all went as scheduled—" he made an elaborate show of drawing out a golden watch from his robe pocket "—then all the conspirators will have been arrested by now."

"I _knew_ you wanted to stay behind with Granger for a reason!" Draco exclaimed in fury. Narcissa sent him another frown he did not pay attention to. _He is showing his emotions far, far too openly._

"As you told me," said Harry, putting away the watch and smiling at Draco, "I'm a Malfoy in more ways than one."

Lucius spoke in a gentle tone. "We can strike at them as easily when they are in Auror custody as we can when they are free. It's a noble effort, Harry, but shall only fail."

_I am glad he recognizes it is a noble effort, at least, _Narcissa thought tartly. She was rather irritated with her husband, who seemed to have no loyalty to reality at all.

"No, you can't," said Harry. "The Aurors aren't always competent, that's true, but they've been much better at holding criminals since Kingsley Shacklebolt became Minister. And you'll still need a regular dose of healing potions for several weeks, which means you won't be away from the house for any length of time."

_Never upset your mediwizard, _Narcissa thought. _That was a rule I did think you knew, Lucius._

"Besides which," Narcissa said then, "I agree with Harry. No vengeance is worth the possible loss of life and prestige that we would incur."

Lucius glared at her. Narcissa did not care, because she needed no intuition to tell her that she would win _this _contest. She was more concerned with the way Draco and Harry faced each other at the moment. It was possible that the love blossoming between them could be destroyed, at this early stage.

*

Draco could feel his fury running through him like a river of quicksilver, but at the moment, it was no longer his most prominent emotion. He was confused, and irritated at how much, once _again_, he appeared to have underestimated Harry.

"You're quite determined not to allow me my vengeance, are you?" he asked.

"Quite," Harry said. At least he looked vaguely apprehensive.

"I'm not bound to the house by my father's limitations," said Draco. "Or by my mother's opposition." Narcissa slewed a glance sideways at him, but Draco could ignore that one as he'd ignored the others she had given him in the last few minutes. "You'll have a task to keep me here."

"I would prefer to think that you're a responsible adult who knows when he's been outmaneuvered, and—" Harry began, his teeth gritted.

"I'm a responsible adult who knows a sound bargain when he hears one," Draco said. He let a smile go, which made Harry eye him nervously. _Good._ "I want you to agree to study for your Potions exam again, and to let me help you."

Harry gaped at him, as well he might. Draco didn't care. This was the one thing he had been able to think of that might enable him to get something he wanted and also to overturn Harry's triumph, so Harry wasn't _completely _in control of their relationship.

Harry shook his head. "I'd agree if I thought that would do any good," he said. "They only let me sit my NEWTS a second time because I'm Harry Potter. And I did as badly the second time as the first. No becoming a Healer without an Outstanding on both the theory and the practical portions." His voice turned scalding and bitter for a moment. "Your offer's generous, but you can't help me."

_What? _

"The NEWTS are offered as many times as needed to anyone in a particular profession," Draco pointed out, "who's already shown several years of proficient practice in that profession. No, they won't give it over and over again to lazy students who haven't chosen a job. But they will give it to you." He felt pity touch him like cold fingers as he looked at Harry. "You never looked again once you failed the second time, did you?"

Harry blushed.

"And I don't know if I'm so generous," Draco mused, "when I'll drive you harder than Snape ever did." He felt his face twist. He couldn't help it. Snape's death had been a torment and a waste, of talent and time and grief. Draco still didn't know why Snape had given so much of his loyalty to Dumbledore, and he doubted that he ever would know, but he had not acted as he _should _have.

"I never had a problem with the amount of work involved," said Harry. "It was Snape's teaching method I objected to."

_Of course it was. _"It's settled, then." Draco smiled. "You'll let me teach you Potions, and in return I won't seek vengeance. Shall we aim for a date of October in which to take the NEWTS?"

"I wouldn't want to inconvenience—"

_That is a disguise for cowardice. _"That would be most convenient for _me_," Draco said.

That made Harry bend, as Draco knew it would. He reached out and ran a lazy hand up Harry's arm. Harry looked at him as if he couldn't decide whether to be grateful or to hit Draco.

_So long as he does not think he can trample over me, _Draco thought, _I may even admire what he did today._

_Eventually._

It had not escaped him that giving up vengeance meant giving up vengeance on Harry's Muggle family, too.

But _something _must be done.


	31. What Is True

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Thirty-One—What Is True_

Draco had brewed, and spoken over things with his parents, enough to know that he stood no chance of changing Narcissa's mind, and that his father was already creating the version of events in which he had _won_ (that is, the version of events in which Harry's independence had been all Lucius's idea). He had, he thought, stayed away from Harry for a decent length of time, depending on what someone else would consider decent.

And he wanted to have what he'd been interrupted in the having of too many times now.

So he went to Harry's bedroom, and paused for a moment to listen and make sure there were no other human voices inside. But he heard only the voices of house-elves, because Harry had not yet adjusted his wards to keep sound from escaping through the crack around the door, and relaxed. This time, he would be the one to dismiss Rogers, and—

Take what he wanted? But this was about more than that. It was also about giving Harry what _he_ wanted, and showing him how much pleasure they could interchange. After all, it was no fun if the other person in the bed wasn't having fun.

The answer came to Draco when he thought about the way Lucius's face was healing and the way Harry had examined his watch when he announced that the Aurors were on their way to arrest the guilty members of the Burne-Jones, Neverlong, and Foxe families even as the Malfoys tried to debate their fates.

_Triumph. This is our time to triumph._

He didn't bother knocking. Harry hadn't set the wards to keep him out, and that was as good as an invitation. He opened the door.

Harry stared at him with his mouth slightly open. In front of the bed stood Rogers and a dirty, shambling house-elf that Draco reckoned was the one belonging to Harry. Rogers took the other's hand and Apparated out with him. Draco would have smiled if Rogers was still there to receive the tribute. At least he _knew_ when Draco intended to bed the man he was in love with, and he would make sure that no interruptions came between him and Harry for the next few hours.

"Did you say something to them?" Harry demanded, his voice shaky.

"They know when we're serious and won't be persuaded otherwise." Draco shut the door behind him and began to undo his robes. He kept his movements smooth, his head slightly bowed as he walked, knowing that Harry was gazing at him in wonder and lust. He had used this same dance to seduce a hundred times, sometimes simply stopping in front of his target and beginning.

But this time was better. Harry was constantly licking his lips, and didn't seem to realize how clearly Draco could see the outline of his erection against his robes.

_This isn't a temporary lust, _Draco realized yet again, as his robes began to drop off his shoulders, and Harry's eyes followed the cloth helplessly. _I want him to make love to me, and I want to make love to him, until we're lost in each other, until the sensations are as familiar to us as our breathing. _

"Unlike this morning," Draco continued, and his voice dropped. "Unless something else has happened to convince you otherwise in the meantime."

"God, _no_." Harry was practically panting.

Draco had to smile at the gasp, and then he paid attention to a button that was sticking in the cloth. He preferred the manual method of undressing to the magical one, because it allowed more time for seduction and conviction of a wavering lover, but there were disadvantages. He could not afford to take too much time with this.

And then Harry seized his chin and thrust his tongue into his mouth.

It was burning, and it was ferocity. Draco realized now that he had been fooled by the demure, almost diffident way that Harry hung back into thinking he would be hesitant when he _did_ want to kiss someone. But no; his tongue was performing a complicated dance in the middle of Draco's mouth that he didn't think he'd ever encountered from anyone else.

Harry slid a hand under his hanging robes and slowly ran a finger the length of his shoulderblade, towards his collarbone. Draco shut his eyes, because the anticipation and the touch were both almost too much.

He almost cried out when Harry's teeth and tongue followed his finger. In the end, he managed to prevent himself from revealing anything with sound, but not with movement. He swayed on his feet, his skin moving in small shudders. He considered raising a hand to arrest Harry's head, but there was no reason to do that.

And then Harry scraped as if he meant to worry Draco's flesh from the bone.

Draco's cock arched, and he nearly came. As much to distract himself from that as because it really did feel good, he seized Harry's head and dragged him into a kiss. Harry was the one gasping with surprise this time as Draco kissed him, and _kissed _him, and then forced him backwards until Harry lay on the bed with Draco kneeling over him.

Harry's muscles were smooth and wonderful between his legs. Draco could feel his ribs, but not as the striped curves of bone he had thought for a moment he would feel, given how little Harry appeared to eat. And he was staring at Draco with a worshipful, dazed expression that Draco liked very much.

He shrugged himself free of the robes at last. Harry tried to rub his cock into them, but Draco whipped them smoothly off the bed. Harry whimpered and closed his teeth on his lip.

"You should undress," Draco said. He didn't know he would sound so guttural until his voice emerged. Well, that was fine. He could seduce with a growl; he knew his own capabilities. "I want you naked."

Harry nodded, and reached for his wand.

_Oh, no_. Draco caught his wrist. Harry immediately froze as much as was possible when he still had a beating heart and shivering skin, staring dreamily at Draco as if he thought Draco's eyes were as captivating as his own.

_He won't look in a mirror, _Draco thought, as he stared back at Harry, _but I can be his mirror. I can show him what's wrong, show him how beautiful he is, and teach him how little he has to change to satisfy me._

_That is, not at all._

"The slow way," Draco said, as he directed Harry's hand to the first button on his robes. "I've seen far too little of you, and I want to appreciate the first sight."

Harry flushed, and began to undo the robes. Now and then, his body quivered as if he wanted to look away from Draco, but his conscience or his courage wouldn't permit it. Draco fought to keep from salivating as the robes slid away and revealed Harry's skin. It wasn't that Harry's body was exceptionally beautiful; Draco had slept with beautiful people, like Blaise, and the attraction was not the same. If someone were judging him as a stranger, they would probably say that only Harry's eyes really attracted attention and admiration.

It was the thought that this body contained the spirit Harry had shown when defying the Malfoys and blending with them and caring for Lucius that made Draco almost swoon. He would be as close to Harry's spirit as it was possible to be, soon. He had to fight to keep from hurrying even though _he_ was the one who had mandated the slow method.

And then Harry began to push the robes off, and found that Draco's kneeling posture held them in place. "Draco," he whispered.

"Hmmm?" Draco pitched his voice high this time. He didn't enjoy being tugged away from his contemplation of Harry's body, whatever the necessity for it.

"You'll need to lift up."

Draco blinked, deliberately giving the impression that he didn't know what Harry was talking about. He doubted Harry would understand the tribute that it was to make Draco's mind run slowly and quickly at once; he would probably prefer to believe that Draco was absorbed in contemplation of him. He smiled, and Harry groaned. "I do, don't I?" he murmured, voice a growl again. "Well, I wouldn't want you to miss me too much in the meantime."

And he made sure to rub his arse against Harry's cock before he swung a leg over his hips and crouched beside him. Harry stretched yearningly after him, making a small complaining noise in his throat. Draco tilted his head back, languidly, and watched Harry to see what he would do next.

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly, and he began peeling off his robes again. Draco sighed at the sight of taut flesh and shining skin, but he did wonder what sort of vengeance Harry thought this could possibly be. Because it wasn't anything of the kind.

And then Harry suddenly had his wand in hand, and less than a moment later he was spelling off Draco's trousers, and then he had dropped his wand, and then he was licking Draco's hip.

Draco stiffened and cried out in spite of himself. He would have grabbed Harry's head and pulled him up so that they could kiss; he was certain that he _meant_ to, at least. But Harry had his mouth around his cock in the next instant, and then Draco was a little too busy shuddering and flushing and crying out Harry's name.

And then Harry was sucking like an expert.

Draco hated to use such a trite simile, but really, there was no other word for it.

Every motion of his tongue seemed to teach him something new. When he found an interesting peculiarity in the thickness of Draco's shaft or the shape of his head, he went back to it, and tortured until Draco felt as if he were floating through a sea of fire. When he sucked and moaned at the same time, Draco writhed and barely held back the quickest orgasm he'd ever had.

He didn't want to embarrass himself, but _Merlin_, Harry made it difficult. He even seemed—as much as Draco could tell this from the soft, coaxing motions of his mouth—to be demanding that response, as if he wouldn't be disappointed if Draco came quickly, as if that wasn't weakness but the evidence of pleasure, and he cared about little but giving Draco pleasure.

But still…

_No_.

Draco had dreamed of fucking Harry, and he was going to fuck Harry. He reached down, seized a handful of those stubborn curls, and sobbed out, "No, stop!"

Harry stiffened for a moment, and then lifted his head, though not before he had given Draco's cock one more lick. His eyes blazed, and Draco felt his heart pounding faster at the passion in them. Yes, he need not have worried that Harry would lack enthusiasm, once they had the time to make love and trusted each other enough.

"_What_?"

"Not like that," Draco managed to whisper. He stroked Harry's cheek for a moment, but his fingers trembled, and he nearly cut off one of Harry's eyelashes with his nails. He swallowed, which was hard when there was no saliva in his throat. He wanted to marvel. Harry had affected him even more profoundly than he'd thought.

"You want us to both suck each other at the same time?" Harry stared at Draco's lips, and his eyes filled with flame and shadow.

"No." This time, Draco managed to stroke Harry's cheek in a way that made it a caress instead of a punishment. His lip curled, and he swallowed again, and saw Harry's pupils expand. "No, I want to fuck you."

And the mere sound of the words made Harry arch towards him, neck curved back, hips curved forwards, offering himself, and his erection, and his skin, and his strength, and his vulnerability. Draco had to close his eyes for a moment.

"Yes," Harry said, with immense dignity in his voice considering the way that voice faltered for a moment, "yes, I think I'd like that."

Draco leaned forwards, pressing Harry to the bed, and began to kiss him again. He wanted to steal his breath, steal his attention, steal his ability to focus on anything other than what Draco was doing to him. He had never been this greedy, this _possessive_, with anyone. He wanted desperately, and the only way he could feel strong was to kindle that same desperate desire in the person he was sleeping with.

Harry tried to put his arms around Draco's shoulders, but Draco pinned his wrists to the pillow. That just resulted in Harry spreading his legs and shoving his arse back. Draco paused to stare at him. _Does he realize what he looks like? Doesn't he care what I'll think of him, for behaving like that?_

"Well?" Harry demanded. "Get _on_ with it."

_He doesn't care what I think of him, because he's already sure that it's something good, _Draco realized, and the realization reached down into him and shook him, as though he were a building rattling on its foundations. _To him, this kind of thing isn't a weakness._

He didn't know how many times he would have to realize that before it finally stayed with him, but, for the moment, he had other things to say.

"You wouldn't like me to simply get on with it," Draco whispered, even as he reached for Harry's pants. And then he found his hand had fallen short, because he'd been staring at Harry's arse and the way he offered it, without shame and in every expectation of pleasure. The flush in his cheeks couldn't get much stronger, given his desire, and hopefully that would hide the embarrassment. "I have the feeling it would be a bit too—_much_—for you to handle."

"Braggart," Harry moaned.

"Oh, no." Draco tore the pants off, then seized Harry's wand. When he flicked the wand, a large pool of his favorite lubricant appeared on Harry's belly and his arsehole. Harry yelped, as if the conjuring of oil to make Draco's entrance easier was an affront to his dignity. "At this, I'm exactly as good as I say I am."

And then he had the opportunity to make Harry fascinated with him again, because he took some of the oil on his hand and slid the first finger into Harry's arsehole. Harry shuddered and tried to look away. Draco wouldn't let him. He went on staring the way he would have at a snake that was about to strike him—a creature of implacable beauty that he needed to tame before it tamed him.

Harry began to gasp, his stomach flexing as if he were trying to hold in a full and delicious meal.

"_Yes_," Draco said, his words dragging and slopping up his throat, given how thick they were.

He slid a second finger in to join the first, and began to pursue a steady, gentle, regular movement, parting his fingers and then joining them, and all the time crooking them, in a search for Harry's prostate. Harry spread his legs as if in answer. Draco said something he meant to be an endearment, but which ended up coming out more like a wordless mumble, and then bent down to leave the mark of his teeth on Harry's hip the way it felt Harry had left the invisible mark of his tongue all over Draco's cock.

Draco moved to add a third finger. Harry laughed, and then blinked and frowned. He was probably upset about the hitch in his voice, Draco thought smugly. Harry had meant to introduce an element of ridiculousness into the moment, but the pleasure was too much for him.

"Two's enough," Harry said.

"How long has it been since someone fucked you?" Draco paced his breathing carefully to control his jealousy, but Harry heard it and laughed anyway. Draco tightened his hold on Harry's waist. He'd let Harry's wrists go because he was keeping them still.

"Four months or so," Harry said. "And that was Xavier Brandeis."

"That fool who confronted you in hospital?" Draco could still hear the fool's squealing voice if he concentrated.

Harry nodded. "And the one who cast the Beetle's Bite on me through the wards at Grimmauld Place."

Draco bristled, but not so much with anger as with longing. "You only forbade me from taking vengeance on the people who hurt my father," he said.

"But I did tell you that I didn't want you ever taking revenge for me, no matter what the situation was," Harry said. _Too calm, too fucking determined to make this all about other people's pain instead of his own. _Draco curled his lip.

"Listen," Harry said. "You can take a better vengeance on Xavier than by hunting him down, even if he never knows it." Draco arched a brow, and Harry smiled. "Make me forget him."

_But when he focuses on others' pleasure, he does it very well._

"_Yes_," Draco said, and leaned back on his heels. He gave Harry a half-warning look; he could still require more oil, or a third finger, or he could ask for them to suck each other instead.

Harry stared back with his eyes shimmering more incandescently than the oil. He was _stubborn_, Draco had to give him that. And then he spread his legs and lined his arse carefully up with Draco's cock.

"Keep doing that and I'll come before I get inside you," Draco muttered.

Harry threw him a look of defiant scorn. "Even _Xavier _never did that."

Draco growled and urged his hips forwards. His cock began to slide into Harry, and he tensed and bit his lip, his body trembling as though _he_ were the one being penetrated. It always affected him like this, always.

At least Harry was affected too, from the way he was trying to regulate his breathing.

Draco stopped at last. He wanted to groan in pure luxury. His balls rested gently against Harry's arse, and his body throbbed, and he could feel the warmth around his cock in his neck, which made him hang his head. "All right there?" he asked, bending to lick a line of sweat from Harry's chest.

"More than all right," Harry said, and grinned at him. "Besides, you haven't _done _anything yet. Do you want to be a rival to Xavier or not?"

Draco snarled—who _said_ things like that in the middle of being fucked by a Malfoy?—and snapped his hips forwards. Harry cried out, the lower half of his body rising from the bed and his toes curling. Draco smirked; he could hear the way Harry luxuriated, too, in that cry, which was not a sign that he needed to be more careful.

Draco gave a slow thrust the next time, then two more long ones, then three quick jabs that hit Harry's prostate and made his eyes fall shut. A groan was bubbling on his lips, which moved but released no sound. His head and his arms twitched, on the verge of thrashing.

"Keep your hands there," Draco whispered. He settled into a regular rhythm that mimicked the stretching pattern of his fingers earlier, the bed under him sometimes driving his thrusts more smoothly in, the way a pillow beneath Harry's hips would have. "I like that."

Harry laughed. This time, Draco didn't take it as mockery.

Draco began to apply other parts of his body to making love; he liked to do it as a whole and consistent act, rather than making it all about the cock and the balls, the way Blaise had sometimes done. He dug his fingernails randomly into Harry's skin, and now and then brushed his cock in the same way. He grabbed a fold of skin and pinched it until Harry gasped. He touched Harry's shoulder and chest with his tongue when he could. He gasped, too, so that Harry could hear his voice, since at the moment his eyes weren't open.

And he did his very best to take the warmth and indescribable pleasure flowing through him, thanks to the tight clasp of Harry's arse, and gift it back to Harry.

It worked. Harry began to moan and sigh, and repeat the sounds in a cycle of his own, until Draco couldn't resist it any longer.

"Quite a concert you're giving me, Harry," he murmured.

Harry opened his eyes, a smile trembling on his lips. Draco waited until his eyes were partially focused, then grabbed Harry's cock and circled his fingers around the head at the same moment as he made sure to hit Harry's prostate.

Harry's cry was a soft, gentle gasp that went on mounting, breaking in odd places and then tumbling upwards again. He splashed Draco's hand with come, and Draco enjoyed that as much as he enjoyed the stronger way his hips were moving now, as instinct and inevitability took over his body. At last Harry stopped coming and lay there, still staring at him, a faint, dazed smile on his lips.

_Time to see how far he's willing to go. _Draco extended his come-covered hand to Harry's lips.

Harry sucked one finger into his mouth and clenched down with his inner muscles at the same time.

"No—_fair_—"

Draco managed to say that before his orgasm, but it was a near thing, with his body involved in the thrusting and the pushing and the _pulsing_ as he came. He lost his balance and fell forwards, half in Harry's come again, his chest pressing against Harry's, his hips still snugly in place as he finished.

And they were connected, the way that Draco had wanted to connect with Harry's spirit when he looked at him earlier, as close as two people could be without using some rather nasty versions of Legilimency and the Imperius Curse.

And Harry was still cleaning the come from his fingers with a languid tongue.

"I think that was a draw," Draco said at last, shifting around so he could see Harry's face. He didn't pull out. He liked to stay in the lovers he fucked as long as he could, to sleep inside them if they permitted it. He didn't think Harry would permit that, not quite yet, but perhaps later. "I trust that I've sent Xavier entirely out of your head."

Harry blinked and stared at him. "Who's Xavier?"

Draco knew he gasped before he saw the smile crinkling the edges of Harry's eyes and mouth, and hit him instead.


	32. Loving and Fierce

Thank you again for all the reviews!

This is the last chapter of _For Their Unconquerable Souls_. I hope you've all enjoyed coming along on this ride as much as I have.

_Chapter Thirty-Two—Loving and Fierce_

"I was the one who thought that he should come to Malfoy Manor."

Narcissa watched with well-hidden amusement whilst her husband fashioned a new reality in his head, a reality in which he was the one to determine that Harry belonged with their family and even the one to realize what the cost of Harry's healing him might be. He was sitting up in his bed now, studying his face in a mirror to make sure the scars had faded but with his mind galloping so fast that Narcissa knew he could not be considering that solely. Already, he had broken off twice and stared into the distance in absorbed silence.

He was making up the story that would allow him to live with the loss of vengeance on his enemies. Narcissa was far from wanting to discourage that; she thought that Lucius was considerably easier to love when he thought he was winning.

But it _was _amusing to watch him go through the process.

Lucius caught her eye just then and demanded, "Don't you remember that? It was my idea first. You were the one who distrusted Harry and wanted to find some other method of dealing with him."

_Yes, I distrusted him, but more because I thought he would not fit into the family. Once I saw that he would, I accepted him._

But Narcissa didn't intend to disrupt the small incipient reality when it was in the process of forming. She stood up, kissed him on the forehead, and murmured, "Yes, I remember that. And now I am going to call Rogers and give him detailed instructions about your dinner. What would you like to eat?"

"Veal," Lucius said at once. "And a stew of quail. And fresh-baked bread with honey dripping over it. And—"

_Wait until Draco is sick, _Narcissa thought, as she turned and found Rogers already waiting behind her, his ears twitching as he listened raptly to the menu. _Then Harry will find out how strongly certain traits are inherited._

*

"Mr. Malfoy. Hello." The woman Draco had been told was named Healer Pontiff nodded to him as she sat down on a chair in the ground floor room that the Malfoys kept for visitors they did not want to see the rest of the house. The walls and the furnishings were intentionally bland, to fool anyone who might think to estimate their wealth from a few glances and carry reports of the Malfoy fortune back to their enemies. But Healer Pontiff didn't seem concerned about that.

Draco didn't know what to think about Pontiff. The woman had gray hair and faraway eyes. She didn't look like someone who would have been a conspirator with the people in the hospital administration who had hurt Lucius, and Draco had read the letter that she sent Harry saying she was not and volunteering to be tested under Veritaserum.

But Draco had seen already that Harry's strong love could blind him to the faults of the people he loved. He had chosen the Weasel, as one example.

"Hello," he forced himself to say. _Politeness costs me nothing, even if I must kill her later._

Healer Pontiff didn't seem to notice or care about Draco's expression. She smiled and held out her hand to Harry. He went to her, though he looked carefully at her palm first. Draco could almost see him rolling his eyes as he did so.

Draco stiffened, but said nothing, because he had agreed to let Harry handle the confrontation as far as that was possible. He was _not_ being overly cautious. There was a possibility that the Healer could have smeared her palm with a rare nerve poison, and it was no bad training to have Harry learn to recognize the potions that could hurt him

"Thank you for coming," Harry murmured. He took her hand, all the while smiling into her eyes with an easy camaraderie that made Draco bite his lip to stave off the jealousy. At the very least, he was certain Harry did not want Pontiff.

_I think._ _He had female lovers at one time, too, didn't he. _

"Anything to free myself from suspicion in the eyes of my favorite student." Healer Pontiff sat down in a chair exactly as if she'd been invited for some normal purpose. "Have you finished putting the Veritaserum in the tea? I like a dash of sugar, no more than that."

Draco gave her a steady annoyed stare as he tipped three drops of Veritaserum into the cup of tea standing ready, following it with sugar he had to summon Rogers to fetch. He didn't appreciate her attitude.

From her serene expression, he had no idea if she absorbed the insult. And Harry was hiding a grin, badly, as he sat down in a chair across from Pontiff. Of course she would have no reason to think she was in danger if her "favorite student" was carrying on like some sort of clown.

Pontiff sipped the tea and gave a satisfied sigh. "Some amazing changes in the hierarchy of the hospital," she remarked to Harry. "Burne-Jones and Neverlong have been arrested. And Foxe. Really, I wouldn't have thought it of him. He seemed content to condone the minor forms of corruption whilst driving out the major ones."

"He lost a relative to Lucius, as he thought," Harry said quietly. "The conspiracy involved a wide range of people, both former Death Eaters, or their relatives, and those who thought it permissible to strike back because they believed the Wizengamot was wrong."

"_Harry_," Draco hissed, coming up behind him. He couldn't believe Harry would simply speak all those details in front of Healer Pontiff and possibly contaminate what she knew like that. Was Draco the only one who took any _reasonable_ precautions at all?

"I intend to ask her to make a Healer's Oath to me," Harry said, "so that she can't speak to anyone about what we say in this room without our permission. It's used all the time when a patient has only one Healer and wants to keep the condition secret."

Pontiff nodded. "Very good," she said. She drank a little more tea, with a long sip that made Draco suspect she guzzled sugar in private.

"The Veritaserum should have had time enough to take effect." The Healer set her cup on the table beside the chair, with what Draco had to admit was at least a proper respect for the cup's delicacy, and smiled again. "Ask me what you will."

_At last._"Were you involved in the conspiracy against Harry?" Draco demanded.

"No."

Draco frowned, then smiled. _Sometimes the proper use of Veritaserum simply relies on the way one asks the questions. _"Were you involved in the conspiracy against my father?"

"No."

Draco clenched his jaw. For the moment, he had nothing more to say, and he hated to know that his suspicions might have been wrong. Harry coughed and spoke instead, however, so at least it looked like a planned trade-off of questions and not a loss of speech on Draco's part. "Why did you never mention the headache curse that Emptyweed put on me?"

"He put a headache curse on you?" Healer Pontiff blinked.

_Honestly, woman, you're a Healer, and he spent a lot of time around you, and he trusted you. How could you not tell? _Draco's suspicions acquired a living heartbeat once more.

Harry nodded. "You never noticed?" There was a slight cast of wonder and pity to his face. Draco could only hope he was rethinking his decision to take Pontiff as a role model.

"No." Pontiff sounded disturbed. "I knew you had headaches, but I had no reason to look closely at you for anything but immediate wounds." She gave Harry an earnest look that seemed meant as some sort of apology. Draco sighed in disgust, knowing that Harry would, of course, take it that way and let her off the hook for anything she had done. "I was often thinking of my next patient already when I treated you, since I knew you had the knowledge of Healing magic to help yourself even if I missed something. I was more worried about your keeping your wounds secret out of misguided stoicism for so long that you would collapse. Therefore, I wished to treat the obvious ones. Your headaches were not life-threatening."

"No," Draco said between gritted teeth, "only livelihood-threatening." _And that's all you care about, isn't it? That Harry be a Healer the way you are. You didn't care about him as a person; you only saw him as a source of talent and publicity, the way everyone else in that damned place did._

Pontiff shook her head at him. "It is understandable that you would wish to blame me," she said, with a gentleness that set Draco's teeth on edge, "but I had nothing to do with this."

"And I know that now." Harry squeezed her hand with his. Pontiff turned to him, leaving Draco in something like peace. "Tell me, how do you think these changes will affect St. Mungo's?"

"For the better, in the long run. We will have new administrators, and whilst they might also be corrupt, they will notice what happened to the last who dared to be too open in their evil and temper their actions." Pontiff sounded as if she knew what she was talking about, and Draco saw Harry slump against the back of his chair, as if he had been carrying a burden that someone had finally unstrapped from his shoulders. _I can't believe that he's still concerned about the people there—but of course he is. He wouldn't be Harry otherwise. _"In the short term, the publicity from the trials and from reporters trying to find out why Harry Potter left the hospital so abruptly will cause some trouble."

Harry grimaced. "Would it help if I gave an interview saying I left the hospital to treat a patient, not because I was disgusted with what happened there?"

The Healer squeezed his hand. "Will you ever come back?" she asked.

"If he does, it'll be a long time in the future." Draco stepped up beside Harry and draped his arm over his shoulder again. He thought both Harry and Pontiff could use a small reminder of where Harry belonged. "I'm tutoring him in Potions, and he'll become a full Healer. And then he can have a private practice if he wants it, or work part-time for private patients and part-time for St. Mungo's. But he'll still belong here."

Pontiff went on staring at Harry. Draco thought he would gnaw either his tongue or his lips off in a moment.

"Yes, I think so," Harry said. "Eventually."

"And the Malfoys' gifts have not been too heavy for you?"

"I've learned to carry them."

"Why would you say such a thing in the first place?" Draco knew he was hissing, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't every day that he met someone who had tried to poison Harry against his family before they had even thought of offering Harry sanctuary. Harry reached up and clasped his wrist, the backs of his knuckles pressed against Draco's pulse. Draco didn't look at him, because he didn't want Harry to think that gestures like that could melt him—even if they came dangerously close.

"Because I have treated Malfoys, and seen them try to recruit Healers before, when they had reason to trust someone," said Healer Pontiff. "Other families with much the same heritage and laws do the same thing. In almost every case, bringing the Healer into the family did not work. The Malfoys, or the other pure-bloods, expected miracles and perfect conformation to their way of life. The Healers, even when they were part of the same culture, had chosen other paths for reasons that often conflicted directly with that way of life. They either broke from their new families quickly or sank and lost their principles and their ambition, being content to live in luxury." She stared at Harry again. "I did not want either to happen to one of the most talented mediwizards I have known."

"It's a good thing your family doesn't always manage to follow its own rules," Harry said gravely to Draco.

Draco cuffed him on the back of the head, because that was practically required, but he had just lost his own burden. _She understands us better than I expected. She warned Harry against us using the truth. And he still chose to trust us above the words of a woman he considered his mentor._

"I have some hope, since you have managed to fit in," Healer Pontiff continued, "that you will cease to neglect your own health so severely, Harry. I imagine the Malfoys would not care to have their pet Healer die."

_How dare she. _"He's far more than a pet Healer," Draco said stiffly.

Harry cleared his throat. "Draco's already pulled me up short when he thought I was going too far," he said. "And he has a better memory than I do for such things. I thought for sure I'd told you about being hit with the Breath-Stealing Charm when you treated my wounds after the attack in hospital. That you hadn't given me a potion for my lungs was one reason I suspected your involvement with the conspiracy."

Pontiff looked at Harry in a way that Draco would have liked to learn to imitate, because it made Harry wince. _He still does not pay enough attention to my admonitions._

"You said you had been cursed," she said. "You gave me no details beyond the obvious and a few nods when I asked you questions. But you were weary to the bone by then, and needed sleep more than you needed an interrogation."

Harry sighed and almost hung his head. It was the first time Draco had ever envied a St. Mungo's Healer her power. "I'll try not to do that in the future."

"I hope not," said Healer Pontiff. "A Breath-Stealing Curse is nothing to let lie, Harry."

"That's what I told him," said Draco, and let his arm bear down hard again on Harry's shoulders. "He'll listen to me, at least."

Harry relaxed and half-beamed up at him. Draco felt his envy sliding away. Pontiff would never taste the pleasures of Harry's body—or of his allegiances, now that that was bound to the Malfoys—and Draco had his own means of influencing Harry.

"Good." Pontiff stood and smiled at them. "Bless you both," she said. "You have found something as brilliant as blood, Harry, something as brilliant as love. I would hate to see you squander it. Either of you." She looked at Draco. Draco lifted his chin and evenly, coolly, returned the gaze. _Come closer to me and say that again._

"Thank you," Harry said, and then began to take the Healer's Oath, with a diplomatic tact Draco would not have suspected him of. It meant Draco did not have to say anything, and it kept Healer Pontiff from looking at him the entire time before she left.

*

"It's fine," Harry growled, and swatted a hand through his hair. As usual, that nearly ruined the effort that the house-elves had put into tending it. But Narcissa was careful to let no sigh pass her lips. Harry was under enough stress at the moment.

"Fine is not the same as perfect," Narcissa said, "and Malfoys are always perfect when they appear in public." She took a step away from him, cocking her head and pursing her lips. Yes, there was something that could be done, and she had only to ignore Harry's wince. Besides, he had his wand up his sleeve and out of sight and easy reach; Narcissa had insisted that he keep it there so that his audience would not find him overtly threatening, despite the fact that his words today would upset some powerful people.

Carefully and nonverbally reciting the incantation that her mother had used on Andromeda's hair when it grew in untamed directions, Narcissa watched as the magic gathered over Harry's head, tingling across her skin like the stroke of a hand and actually causing small flashes of lightning as it did so. Harry winced again, but the spell was done with too quickly for him to feel actual pain, and then she was satisfied. She nodded. "Yes. Now go out."

Harry gave her a single betrayed look, and then ducked past the green curtain that hung in front of the door of Grimmauld Place. Outside, the crowd gathered in the wizardspace that extended the front lawn went mad. Narcissa ignored them and peered past the curtain to focus on Harry. If the publicity dismayed him too greatly, then he probably would not manage to perform the speech satisfactorily.

But Harry did well. He spoke the words that Narcissa and Lucius had both coached him in (Narcissa could have come up with the speech on her own, easily, but Lucius obviously gained back some of his sense of control by helping to compose the words, and so Narcissa had allowed it). Harry revealed the essential facts that the reporters could put in the newspapers, but none of the deeper secrets behind those facts—the names, but not the motivations. It was all that Narcissa thought the society that had betrayed and abused their hero when convenient, and honored him when it was equally convenient, deserved of someone like Harry.

Harry even spoke the part about his becoming part of the family—which Lucius had insisted on—without much more than a grimace of resigned distaste. He _did_ add that he wouldn't change his name from Potter to Malfoy, and that he would probably go back to St. Mungo's at some point. Narcissa could understand his necessity to do so. And really, Lucius should not be angry. He had given up dreams of convincing Harry to change his name after the tirade Harry began on merely _hearing_ of the matter.

Overall, Narcissa was pleased.

And then, as Harry stepped down from the podium muttering imprecations to himself, she saw a familiar figure move out of the crowd and rush over to embrace Harry. It was the Auror, Adoranar, who had tried his best to flirt with Harry rather than give Lucius information on the case.

Narcissa raised her eyebrow and leaned back against the wall. _This should be interesting, _she thought, her eyes instinctively seeking her son.

*

"Harry!"

Adoranar _hugged_ Harry. He touched him as if he had a _right _to be there. And of course the cameras chose that moment to click, before Harry could push Adoranar's arms away.

"Julius, what the fuck are you doing?"

Draco was able to muster a faint smile as he began to push his way through the crowd towards the pair, ignoring the looks that got him (most of the people who gave him those looks sidled away in the next moment, as they saw his face). At least Harry had acquired the wherewithal to defend himself.

He could not reliably see the conversation that followed, thanks to his head bobbing and ducking behind other heads, but he could hear it.

"I wanted to congratulate you on solving the Malfoy case," Adoranar said, as if he thought Harry were an Auror, too. "And I wanted to give you some information you probably won't learn unless you follow the course of every trial, because the Wizengamot would consider it minor. I know _you_ wouldn't, though."

"Tell me, then."

Draco cheered silently. Harry sounded like him, and that was wonderful. It was like giving Draco a place in the conversation even though he couldn't physically be present.

_Yet, _he added to himself, and shoved an elbow out of his face whilst listening for Adoranar's response.

"Well," the Auror said, "I found out that those people approached Xavier after he made that disgraceful scene in hospital. They thought they could use someone with a grudge against you and who knew you well, because he might be able to get past your wards. They weren't able to convince him to use more than a Beetle's Bite Curse, but _still_. It might have got nastier if you hadn't moved to Malfoy Manor when you did, since they had an expert in wards speaking to Xavier. Aren't you glad he was caught with the rest of them?"

_Harry was right, then. And now that the Aurors have him, I reckon I really will have to give up vengeance against him. _Draco sighed a martyred sigh, and stepped around a large woman who was staring straight ahead as avidly as though Harry and Adoranar were about to kiss for her entertainment.

"And was he also the one who removed the stabilization fields on Lucius?" Harry asked

Silence.

Too much silence. Too thick, too deep, too rich…

Draco moved faster.

"You incredible bastard," Harry said, and his voice was rising in a way that made Draco wonder if he should pity Adoranar. But no, not with the conclusion that Harry announced in the next moment. "It was you, wasn't it? What in the world did you think you were doing?"

"I thought—well, I wanted to give you a chance to show off your Healer's skills, and that seemed the best way to do it." Adoranar cleared his throat. "And if he'd died, then you could have paid more attention to me. I didn't like you choosing him over me, Harry, when I was just trying to tap you on the shoulder."

Harry was silent.

_Surely Harry cannot deny me this vengeance, _Draco thought, and began to barrel ahead, not caring whom he offended. _He would not _dare _deny me._

"I knew you would come back to me if you left the hospital," Adoranar explained. "And you always said you would leave if one of your patients died. Besides, didn't Malfoy deserve it? He might have been the victim of that curse, but he did some horribly evil things."

The strikes at Harry and at his father both left Draco breathless, and the need for vengeance was a physical pain within him now, nearly as bad as the lust he'd felt when Harry still wouldn't let Draco stay in the bed.

"I'm not sure what's worse," Harry said slowly, his voice muffled. "Your faith I would come back to you if I gave up Healing, or your attempt to kill—no, wait, that was _definitely _worse."

Draco came around a crowd of panting, grinning spectators and was able to see clearly, at last. Adoranar hadn't spotted him, although he was the one facing towards Draco. For a moment, sweetness surged through Draco.

"But you must miss me." Adoranar reached out as if to pet Harry's elbow, but Harry jerked his arm back. Adoranar stared at him, and it was all too clear to Draco that the idiot had not the slightest idea that he had offended Harry, or why. "Don't you? I was the best lover you ever had, and your objection to me couldn't have been serious. You would have told me to sod off it was."

_A perfect moment for an entrance._

"He would have told you to sod off if he wasn't too polite for his own good and in too much pain at the time," Draco said. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and tugged him back until Harry rested against his chest. Harry went with the maneuver willingly, which gratified Draco to an extent he couldn't articulate. "And now, he's _my_ lover, claimed and _mine_, and you've just admitted to trying to kill my father. I think Minister Shacklebolt will be extremely interested to know one of his Aurors endangered the life of a man the Wizengamot pardoned simply because of jealousy." His hand was on his wand already.

Adoranar lifted his wand.

Draco spoke a complicated charm, hissing the words with violent pleasure. Boils opened on every inch of Adoranar, including his tongue and the insides of his ears. There would be some on his groin, too, Draco knew.

Adoranar howled like a wounded jackal and staggered away a few steps, then managed to right himself and Apparate. A number of reporters followed him. Draco lowered his wand and laughed. He had finally taken some of the vengeance that Harry had denied him. Nothing had ever felt so good.

_Well, except being inside Harry for the first time, and earning his love and trust, _Draco amended conscientiously as Harry whirled towards him, eyes flashing.

"_Must _you do that?" he demanded, frowning at Draco as if the frown alone could push him away.

"He was lifting his wand," Draco said. "It was self-defense." He judged the angle and number of the gazes on them for a moment, and then lowered his head to lick Harry's ear. "And you're mine."

"That, at least, is well-established," Harry said dryly. "But what you did—"

*

"Was the smallest thing it is possible to do and still retain the honor due you as a Malfoy."

Lucius had had quite enough of his newest son acting always in accordance with the ideals that he had learned at Dumbledore's knee and not adopting any of the ones that his new family had tried to teach him. He would interrupt in public if he must, so that those who listened in would realize the debts that Harry owed in _various _directions.

He looked around, collected the eyes of several reporters he knew well, and then turned back to Harry. "And you are a Malfoy now. Permanently." He gave Harry a soothing smile that did not appear to impress either of his sons.

"You had me make that announcement because you wanted everyone to see the Boy-Who-Lived as part of your family," Harry said. He sounded as if he would hang his head in resignation at any moment, which was not the reaction Lucius would have expected to figuring out the truth behind a Malfoy plan.

Lucius inclined his head.

"You're _enjoying _the notoriety we'll get out of this."

_Why must he sound so disbelieving? _Harry's doubt pained Lucius, really it did.

"As I told you once," Lucius said, and smiled precisely as a camera flashed at him, "motives can be double without hurting anyone involved. I can value you for yourself, as part of the family, and still be smug that we will earn public favor and glory from your allying yourself with us."

"I wish I could just _give _you the fame," Harry muttered, leaning back into Draco. His mouth twitched for a moment. Lucius suspected he was fighting off satisfaction from Draco's boil spell. He made a private vow that he would try to help Harry relax and admit the truth, even when that truth made him look bad in Gryffindor eyes. It would only stress their son if he was forever being forced to apologize for his natural inclinations.

"That would be best," Lucius agreed. "It would rid you of an unwanted burden and give a precious possession into the custody of one who would value it as it deserves. Alas, we do not live in an ideal world."

_But, my son, _he thought, as he watched Harry roll his eyes a moment later with ill-concealed disgust, _I will teach you to recognize why giving your fame away would be disastrous yet._

Lucius turned to answer the further questions of reporters then, mostly ones who were anxious to know whether Adoranar's claims or Harry's accusations held the greater amount of truth. He was content with the way things had fallen out. His enemies had tried to kill him, but he was still alive, and now publically under the protection of the Boy-Who-Lived. His son had claimed his partner, and rivals for Harry's affections would now be fewer. Harry had realized the truth behind a Malfoy plot and not immediately marched away declaring that he was quit of them, which was progress.

And his wife looked at him with approval from behind the green curtain stretched across the front of Harry's house, which Lucius knew meant he would be—call it _well tended to_—tonight.

*

Draco walked softly across the lawn, though with the rain all about him and the long grass underfoot—oh, yes, and the inhabitants' lack of magic—it was unlikely that they would hear him anyway. When he reached the door, he touched his wand to it and cast a few careful spells. The most important of those would shield his magical signature and keep the Ministry from realizing that he was using his power openly in front of Muggles.

Then he opened the door, which swung unlocked to his touch, and gazed into the hellhole where Harry had spent most of his childhood.

It was a Muggle home in bad taste. Draco looked at the lurid colors of the furniture, the countless photographs of a slowly maturing blond boy on the walls, and the patterns of flowers on the wallpaper, and wrinkled his nose in distaste.

This seemed a bland prison. But Draco knew how necessary it was for him, as a child, to have a space to exercise his magic and converse with the living or half-living things of the wizarding world—the portraits, the house-elves, the enchanted mirrors. He could imagine a wizarding child, especially one who did not know about his magic and believed himself a freak, slowly going mad here.

He cast a spell that created a ball of silver light hovering above his head, in the moments before it split apart and sent forks of itself darting away to the corners of the room. One fork climbed the stairs; one darted into the kitchen. Draco leaned against the wall, resigned to this taking a moment. The spell would reveal the remnants of Harry's magical signature, and thus where he had spent the most time during his childhood.

He was not really going to do anything permanent to the Dursleys, Draco silently reassured the specter of Harry that hovered in the back of his mind and glared at him whenever Draco thought about revenge. He didn't even want to see them, because he was afraid they would look too ordinary; he preferred the monsters of his mind. Instead, he wanted to understand Harry's childhood here better. If they—

And then he stopped, and leaned forwards, because a large part of the silver glow was coming from right in front of him. He couldn't understand that. Harry had spent his childhood under the stairs?

His hand brushed the door of a cupboard. He had to stop and take a deep breath when he realized that, and for long moments, he didn't have the strength to force himself to turn the knob.

It opened into a tangle of brooms, buckets, cleaning supplies, and rags. But Draco could not be fooled, not even by the darkness obscuring the cupboard at the moment. He watched the silver glow gathering like a drift of moondust around the floor and the low, slanted roof, and he understood. He could even make out the edges of where a mattress had been, if he squinted enough.

Harry had lived here. The glow was brilliant in the way that it only was when highlighting a place where someone had lain still, slept, dreamed, meditated, and allowed himself to wander in daydreams. This was the kind of silver glow that surrounded Draco's bedroom in the Manor and the balcony where he had liked to sit, overlooking the gardens, when he was a child.

Harry had lived here.

And Draco discovered, then, that he could feel both the immense anger that usually drove him into vengeance and an utter impotence to do much about it.

He grasped his wand and tried to think of a curse that would repay the monsters—they were monsters, no matter what they looked like—for the pain they had caused Harry for years. For at least ten years, anyway, Draco thought, disregarding the fact that he didn't have any proof of that. They probably wouldn't have kept him here after he started going to Hogwarts and carried a wand on him, but before that—the light was more than thick enough for it to have been ten years.

But there was no curse that would answer.

This was a depth of pain, of scarring, that Draco had no answer for.

And Harry had somehow carried that mass of scar tissue within his soul and not bowed under it. In fact, he had grown up gracefully, and if he was irascible and disinclined to give second chances to Slytherins, the wonder was that he had managed to give a second chance to people like Lucius and Draco at all.

_Maybe he doesn't feel their treatment that way, _Draco thought.

But Draco had no choice but to feel it that way.

He could envision what was lost. He had been treated so differently. He always had Malfoy Manor to ramble around in. He could go outside and look up at the sky if the ceiling was ever too confining, and of course he had plenty of indoor rooms, with their changing ceilings and walls like the ones in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, too. He had been raised with magic and beauty and the expectation of nothing but good treatment.

_Imagine all that gone from your life._

There was no way Draco could give Harry back the childhood he had lost by tormenting his childhood tormentors.

But he could try to heal Harry. He could show him that he was loved. He could combat the consequences of the trauma he had suffered that Harry didn't even know he was carrying, such as his tendency to think himself less important than he really was or invest too much of his strength in Healing.

_Yes. You can do that if the Ministry doesn't catch you in the middle of a Muggle house, using magic on Muggle property._

Draco took a deep breath and then turned around and walked to the door. At a flick of his wand, the silver lights glowing through the house flew back to him, coalesced into the sphere again, and then dissipated. The rest of the magic was already set to vanish when Draco Apparated.

_You have to keep yourself safe for Harry's sake, if not your own._

Draco stood a moment on the lawn in the rain, looking back. He tried again to think of a curse.

And still there was nothing evil enough to reply to this evil.

And this was evil past and done, visible mostly in its marks on Harry's soul.

The last thing Draco thought before he bowed his head and Apparated back to the Manor was how unlike himself this was, or at least unlike the man he had been before Harry arrived, that he would consider another's welfare important enough to override his desires. He would, of course, do anything for his parents, but he wouldn't be happy about it if it took over from something he wanted to do.

Here, he did not resent it.

*

Draco stepped into Harry's bedroom and stood by his pillow for a long time, gazing down at him.

Harry rested on the bed without complaints now, though Draco suspected changing something to make the room more comfortable would result in some. His mouth was slightly parted, his nostrils fluttering with the force of his breath, his hair tumbled around his forehead, and his eyes so tightly shut that he seemed to be trying to keep dreams out. Draco could see the scar in the _Lumos _light from his wand only by squinting.

The way he had squinted to look around the cupboard.

Draco sat down next to Harry and reached out a helpless hand, smoothing it over his forehead. Harry turned towards him, murmuring, but didn't wake up.

"Why do you affect me so much?" Draco whispered. Harry smacked his lips in his sleep, which was not an answer, no matter how adorable Draco found it. "Why did you change me without my even noticing, when I was working so hard to change you to fit with the Malfoy ideals?"

Harry didn't answer. Draco wondered idly if he would even understand the question, if he was awake enough to hear Draco ask it.

_Maybe the point isn't that he understands the change. Maybe the point is that I do._

And Draco decided that he could live with that, if he needed to. Maybe Harry wouldn't ever react just the way Draco wanted him to, but why should Draco desire that? His dreams of a compliant Harry were daydreams only. His _visions _were of a future where Harry argued with him and challenged him all the time, the way he had when they made love.

Draco lay down next to Harry and hooked his arms around his waist. He thought, with a faint smile, of what Harry would say when he woke in the morning and found Draco dressed already.

Lying there in the bed, motionless though they were, Draco thought he could feel the motion of the planet beneath them, turning them towards the sunrise and the years that lay beyond that.

Years they would spend together.

And in emotions more precious than vengeance.

Draco closed his eyes slowly, listening to Harry's equally slow breathing. In a few moments, his own had joined it.

**End.**


End file.
